Midsomer Murders (1997–…): Season 4, Episode 3 - The Electric Vendetta - full transcript
While the some of the residents of Midsomer Parva have a particular interest in the appearance of crop circles, the police have a definite interest when the bodies of naked men start appearing in them. Local UFOlogist Lloyd Kirby preaches that extra-terrestrials are at work, but Barnaby looks to more earthly explanations. The first victim, Ronnie Stokes, was a criminal with several serious convictions for assault while the second, Eddie Field, was a local burglar who had only just been released from prison and who may have committed another burglary the night of his death. Both men were electrocuted and were killed elsewhere, with their bodies moved to the crop circles. When a third man is electrocuted, Barnaby must learn of a complex series of events and inter-relationships, some from 40 years previously when two men loved the same woman, to solve the crimes.
Paradisea liliastrum.
Penstemon digitalis.
Penstemon strictus.
Ligularia dentata.
Platycodon grandifloris.
Dianthus superbus!
Oh, for God's sake!
Morning, Mrs Inkpen.
Odious little upstart.
Hey!
Come on.
How long you gonna be?
This is a plan of the gardens.
We have an absolutely beautiful
collection of euphorbias.
But unfortunately no video arcade.
The Inkpens have been here
since the Reformation.
They've had long enough to organize
a decent car park then, haven't they?
Naomi had to sell 25 years ago.
Her husband died,
left her penniless.
A stockbroker called Gerald Bennett
bought the place.
They're back of course, now,
the Inkpens.
Good God, it's 11 quid.
How do you know all this?
Desmond, from the village shop.
He delivers our organic meat.
I didn't know we'd gone organic?
Hadn't you noticed the difference?
No.
You haven't gone to golf then?
No, I haven't gone to golf.
Euphorbias, yeah?
Very good.
Any chance of a cup of tea?
Going for a ride, darling?
No, a swim.
Daniel just gave me this.
Apparently you were making
some kind of point?
About ageing mothers?
Well, you know what they say, dear -
the old varieties
smell the sweetest.
Take those to the ticket office,
Hilary, we're nearly out.
These are beautiful.
Flowers very well
right through to autumn.
I haven't seen them before,
are they hard to propagate?
No, not really, just softwood
cuttings from non-flowering shoots.
Do you live locally?
Uh, yes, fairly. Causton.
I'll be doing some of these
next week,
I could drop you over a few
if you like.
What's the name?
Uh, Barnaby. Joyce.
But really it's -
No, it's no problem.
They deserve wider appreciation.
What's the address?
Parchmore Close. Number 6.
Parchmore. Right.
Well, consider it done, Joyce.
See you next week.
Thank you.
Well, how kind.
Next time it'll be one
of those bitches, so help me.
This is not the wild west, sir.
I'm afraid you are under arrest.
I have had enough!
I can hardly be blamed
for Rodney Widger's behaviour.
I'm not talking about Widger.
If you must fornicate
at least have the dignity
not to fight like a pair of polecats
over the trousers concerned.
And as for the garden -
My garden, Mother.
My garden, and my gardener.
Then face the consequences
of your money-grubbing actions.
Yes, well, when it comes
to grubbing money -
Hilary. Would you bring me
my whiskey and water, please.
And I'll have another G&T.
Mum?
No, thank you.
Hello, Dad.
Dad?
What's the matter?
Desmond.
Hello, Jane.
I've just heard about the memorial.
What on earth are they doing?
Elspeth's idea.
The manor garden
is getting so popular
she decided they need a tearoom.
And that's where she's gonna
build it.
But she can't.
It'll break Dad's heart.
You know there's a meeting tonight?
Oi, Daniel, give us some.
Go on, you promised.
I told you, no.
You give some to me sister.
How do you know about that?
She told me.
She is only 15, his sister.
One bottle. And don't ride
your bikes afterwards.
Mum?
Yes, darling.
What's going on?
Between you and Fliss?
Pay no attention to your sister,
dear.
Whatever she says. Ever.
She's just a bad-tempered
little madam.
I sometimes wish I'd given her up
for adoption rather than you.
Oh dear, rustics approaching.
Just so that you don't forget,
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Village hall, 7:30.
There's really nowhere else
I'd rather be, Desmond.
I'm just delighted to be the cause
of so much excitement.
Whoever said
the English village was dead?
Richard!
No driver? No chaplain?
You could be a commercial salesman
instead of a bishop.
Good evening, Father.
Are you well?
Well enough to give those damned
Inkpens a bloody nose.
I'll see you later.
Unless you want to come?
Uh, where to exactly?
Village hall.
The villagers have turned to me.
I'm sorry.
Nice to be a Deverell
where a Deverell should be -
central to events.
Did you know
it was your anniversary today?
Two years since you walked
into our lives here?
Into the bosom
of your long lost family.
Yes. Yes, I did know.
Are you still glad you did?
All that time and effort
in tracing us.
Have we been what you'd hoped for?
I've got no complaints.
How wonderfully magnanimous of you.
I do understand, Fliss.
How it must have been for you
when I turned up.
Because there's been
a bastard lurking.
You think I'm jealous? Resentful?
Do you think I hate you?
I don't hate you,
I pity you.
Because what you -
Are you coming to the meeting?
You don't think
this is a bit voyeuristic?
Not at all, it's a public meeting.
And I'm interested.
I hope you're not planning to speak?
No, but I can vote if they ask
for a show of hands.
Oh, look who's here.
What?
The man with the shotgun.
Uniform must have bailed him.
You never finished
what you were saying.
Indoors earlier,
you said you pitied me.
Why?
Because we have different fathers.
But I know that.
If you were a gentleman,
you would move
to allow my daughter and I
to sit together.
If you were a lady,
I shouldn't hesitate.
There are still seats
further back, Mrs Inkpen.
Further back?
I have not sat further back
in my entire life.
Mrs Inkpen's humility
is the greatest of the many gifts
she has passed to her descendants.
Mother.
Ladies and gentlemen,
if I could just call this meeting
to order.
The vicar sends his apologies
for absence
and peaceful blessings to all
but we do welcome particularly this
evening, Mrs Elspeth Inkpen-Thomas,
and thank her for agreeing
to take part
in what promises to be
a lively discussion.
Though I'm quite sure
that in the words
of the memorial garden itself
common sense and tolerance
will inform our debate.
Who will speak first?
Jane Bennett.
Daughter of Gerald Bennett,
who created the memorial garden.
To dig up that beautiful place,
which gives pleasure
and sense of community to so many
and replace it with
a commercial teashop
is an act
of unspeakable vandalism.
Hear, hear.
And I should just like to ask
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
by what right she takes back
and destroys
what was freely given
to this village by my father.
Mrs Millard, members
of the village committee.
Miss Bennett asks by what right?
Well, the simple answer
is the right of ownership.
When her father sold Inkpen Manor
back to the Inkpens five years ago
there were no caveats,
no exclusions.
Legally the memorial garden
is our property.
All Mr Bennett did,
apart from create it,
was to grant right of access
to the villagers.
All we are doing is withdrawing
that right.
And frankly
what we Inkpens choose to do
in that respect
is the business of nobody
in this hall tonight.
I mean, really,
if the village really wants
a naff memorial garden...
..a naff memorial garden
let it build one somewhere else.
I bet you can't wait
to turn this into a teashop,
being on Mummy's side in everything.
Was your father
particularly nice then, Fliss?
Is that what you meant?
I know mine's a mystery
but yours, Mum's husband?
Nice?
Good God, no.
He ran off and left us aeons ago.
Way before we pitched up here.
It's an Inkpen tradition,
choosing lousy men.
Of course, you'll probably end up
with Prince Charming.
But he must have provided.
I mean, how could you afford
to keep -
All this? To regain our heritage?
Riches to rags to riches again?
It's a fairy story, darling.
Ugh.
Did you buy this?
Yes, at the shop.
We've been so remiss
with your education, Hilary.
Would you like to know
what I really meant?
Order. Order.
Order!
What are you doing in here?
Got the short straw, sir.
Uniform covering their backs -
asked CID to check out
the Widger-Inkpen situation.
Which one's Widger anyhow?
What is it? Is it about me?
Possibly. Mm... possibly not.
What's the matter?
Don't you want to know?
No. I don't.
I don't like you
when you're like this.
Oh.
Well, you weren't much help.
I kept quiet, didn't I?
Meaning?
Meaning I think you're wrong.
You don't have to antagonise
the whole village like this.
Oh, we care about village opinion
now, do we?
Don't be stupid.
Maybe you're just keeping
all your options open?
What options?
There must be somebody in the
village you haven't slept with yet.
Troy.
Sir?
You go back inside.
Try and find out what those lads
were on, would you?
Don't turn away
when I'm speaking to you.
Where are you going?
Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember?
Dirt.
So... much... dirt.
Heel.
Good boy. Heel.
Crispin.
Crispin.
There it is - got it.
Penstemon White Bedder.
Height 70 centimetres.
Spread 60.
They'd look terrific
in that far corner.
Hello?
I might have to chop off
a bit of lawn.
You wouldn't mind, would you?
Troy.
Morning, sir.
How are we getting on?
Secured the scene.
Haven't had time for much else.
But I'd say a heavy blow to the head
with a blunt instrument.
She's been dead overnight, stiff
as a board and covered in snails.
And there's a possible bit
of forensic.
It's not much but -
Oh, I haven't touched it.
If you look closely there's
a tiny black mark - ink maybe?
Is it writing?
The end squiggle of a signature
even - as it's in a corner?
Yeah. Well done, Troy.
There's nothing else.
Who found her?
Crispin.
Crispin?
He's a black labrador.
I've been struggling
with my conscience,
as every good Christian must,
and there is something else
I should tell you.
One doesn't like to tell tales,
especially as a result
of what one has quite...
..inadvertently overheard...
..but last night,
after the meeting...
Where are you going?
Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember?
I asked, "Where are you going?"
and he said, "Back to the garden."
Those were his exact words.
Did you follow him?
Follow him?
Do you know for certain that he went
straight to the garden?
There and then?
I do not follow men.
Excuse me.
It's Mr Bolt, isn't it?
Yeah.
Detective Sergeant Troy.
Insecticide. Organic.
Insecticide, sir?
How's it kill 'em,
alcohol poisoning?
Could I ask when you last saw
Miss Felicity Inkpen, sir?
What, alive?
Sorry. Of course alive.
Um, last evening, about 7:50.
Just before I left
for the village meeting.
Not after the meeting then?
No.
No, definitely not.
I went straight home. Up the lane.
Not to the memorial garden.
Not "back to the garden" at all?
No.
You were heard to say that -
"back to the garden."
I was annoyed about the meeting.
I was simply making a point -
I'm a gardener. Nothing more.
Just a gardener.
Not a ladies' man then, sir?
And you and your daughter Felicity.
You were on good terms?
Who says otherwise?
She was a dear
and beautiful daughter.
She was her mother's child
and I loved her more
than I loved anyone else
in this whole horrible world.
It's Hilary, isn't it?
I've been waiting for you.
Last night
Fliss "came and found" you.
Could I ask you why?
Just to torment me.
It was her favourite pastime.
Oh, you didn't get on?
No.
That must have been a bit difficult,
living and working
under the same roof?
Fliss didn't work.
She'd tried modelling and acting.
Without any luck.
Well, they're hard to get into,
aren't they?
So she just hung about here,
bored out of her skull.
And do you know if any other people
felt the same way about her
as you did?
I mean, did she "torment" anyone
else?
Well, everyone really.
It was her thing.
A kind of attention seeking,
I suppose.
But anyone specific?
Mum, Daniel, Rodney Widger -
Oh, the shotgun man?
I'm sorry,
Fliss and I didn't like each other
but it's not very nice
talking about her like this.
Sir!
Excuse me.
I'm Detective Chief Inspector
Barnaby.
Your grand-daughter
has been murdered.
So you'll understand that we have
to make certain enquiries.
May I just ask you,
when did you last see Felicity?
Was it before you went to
the village hall or afterwards?
I know that you left the meeting
um... early.
I find your manner and your
insinuations extremely offensive.
And I have to say that
I'm not entirely overwhelmed
by the courtesy of your reply.
Do you really imagine
I am not devastated
by my grand-daughter's death?
Endangered species such as ours
do not reduce their numbers
from within.
Have you not the wit
to look elsewhere?
When there is a madman with
a shotgun just across the lane,
and a young woman with an unhealthy
emotional attachment to her father
half a mile up it?
The madman with the shotgun's
presumably Widger.
Who's the girl with
the unhealthy attachment?
Get in the car. I'll show you.
Morning.
Bit of a bugger last night.
Yes, yes,
murder's never very pleasant, is it?
I was talking about the meeting.
Mr Cox?
Did you go straight home last night
after the meeting?
No, I went for a pint
over at Mallow.
Who with?
Charles King.
He lives opposite the village hall
if you need to check.
Oh, we do, Mr Cox, we do.
On everyone.
I was being facetious, you know,
about the murder.
It's just there won't be many
at the funeral.
So I'm a suspect?!
You made an impassioned speech.
You left the meeting early.
And I have nothing but contempt
for the whole Inkpen clan,
but why should I kill Fliss?
Elspeth's the one
destroying Dad's garden.
Except that will now stop,
I should imagine,
for the time being at least.
Jane, I do appreciate how upset -
Do you?
Do you really?
That garden was my father's life
for 20 years.
It was him who made it
what it is today, not the Inkpens.
Now he's just too ill
and tired to fight.
I have to be his champion.
And I will be.
Do you like gardening?
It's become quite fashionable
with the young, I believe.
Don't have to be a botanist
like my Jane.
I watch it on TV sometimes,
when there's no football.
Oh, I like football.
I saw the game last night.
What, live?
Never miss a live match.
Anyone with you?
Yes, Jane came in at half time
but I prefer to watch on my own,
stops me getting ticked off,
for getting too excited.
Do you know a man called
Rodney Widger, Mr Bennett?
I believe you used to be neighbours.
Yes.
Yes, in my "former life"
as I call it.
He was an intemperate man.
Never knew when he was going
to fly off the handle.
We didn't have
a lot to do with him.
We being you and your daughter?
No, my wife, Cynthia.
Jane was away at university then.
She's done ever so well,
she's got an MSC, you know.
Mmm. You were saying
about Rodney Widger?
Oh, yes, I'm afraid Cynthia
used to goad him deliberately.
She could be quite wicked sometimes,
you know.
I expect he was quite relieved
when she went.
Went?
Oh, yes.
I reported her as a missing person,
of course.
But I'm sure she was getting fed up
with taking second place
to Antirrhinums.
Why are you putting Dad through
all that again?
I'm sorry, I was just asking
Mr Bennett about your ex-neighbour,
Rodney Widger.
Do you see anything of him nowadays?
Only when he walks past
with his shotgun.
Goes "culling vermin" as he puts it.
Foxes, rabbits, pigeons.
Most gardeners would make do
with a bit of netting.
Rodney's solution with pests
is to kill them.
The simple reason I left the meeting
early was that I needed the loo.
Urgently.
I've had a touch of cystitis.
Prostate.
I have not got a prostate.
I came home, straight home,
answered the call of nature
and then watched the second half
of the football.
But you don't deny you'd had an
altercation earlier in the day?
I'd had an altercation
with a motor car
and been bailed to appear before
the magistrates.
I've been threatened
with removal of my shotgun
and I bitterly resent
being harassed in this way
when all I've ever done
is try to preserve my property.
Aren't there any toilets
at the village hall?
If you were desperate.
Oh, for God's sake!
She doesn't unlock them. Alright?
The Millard woman.
She doesn't like the idea of men,
she doesn't like the idea of men
full stop.
Can you tell us
anything about Cynthia Bennett?
Used to live at Inkpen manor.
We know where she used to live,
thank you.
Only we're reviewing
our missing persons files.
Excuse me. I need the loo. Urgently.
What was that all about, sir -
Cynthia Bennett, missing persons?
I was waiting for you to throw
that in, Troy. You said it.
Cynthia was apparently
a thorn in Widger's side.
Just like the Inkpen girl.
Oh, will you stop blubbing!
She brought it on herself.
You've both brought everything
on yourselves.
Cavorting with Daniel,
insulting Widger,
raising two fingers
to the entire village
when you're not raising
your skirts, that is!
You heartless old bitch!
Mum, Mum, she doesn't mean it.
I mean every syllable.
Is this how our 500 years
are to end?
Like an episode in some sordid
television soap opera?
You've about as much noblesse oblige
as a fishwife in a brothel.
I'm leaving.
Mum.
I've just heard.
Elspeth, I'm most dreadfully sorry.
Thank you, Richard. Thank you.
If anyone wants me,
or your grandmother drops dead,
I'll be at the vicarage.
Uh, I don't think we've ever met.
I'm Richard Deverell.
Hilary, I'd like some tea.
Susan, I need a room for the night.
No, if you're digging up the lawn,
you're digging up the lawn.
Big bits, small bits,
all fine by me.
Now I really just phoned to say
I don't know -
Well, I don't know
when I'm gonna be home.
Right.
And you.
I'll speak to you later. Bye.
Tell him.
Pumpey?
Yes. Pumpey.
It's sort of like scrumpy only -
Lethal?
Better. A subtle blend of apple and
potato with a tincture of garlic.
So where's the still
or reactor or whatever?
I got rid of it. Last night.
After the meeting.
So you were here?
Not in the memorial garden.
I didn't go near the memorial
garden, I didn't see anyone.
But you didn't go straight home.
You lied, Mr Bolt.
Well, what would you do if you
thought you'd killed someone?
I mean the boys.
I thought they might have -
if they'd gone into a coma
or their livers had packed up or...
I'm talking about the boys.
Don't leave the village, Mr Bolt.
And stay off the pumpey.
What I can't understand, sir,
is what the women see in him.
He's got dirt under his fingernails.
Mrs Inkpen,
I'm sorry to trouble you again,
I was hoping to see your daughter.
She's not here.
Oh. May I enquire -
At the vicarage.
Tea and sympathy.
Oh, fine.
Uh, while I'm here, I wonder,
do you recall Felicity receiving
a letter
in the last couple of days?
A letter? Felicity.
That seems highly improbable.
She only ever communicated
by mobile phone.
To the vicarage?
No, it'll keep. I've seen enough
Inkpens for one day.
Anyway, we'll see if the lab comes up
with something
on that scrap of paper.
So what now then?
I'm checking alibis.
Desmond's absolutely right.
We went straight from the hall
to the Crooked Billet.
Took Janet.
Janet?
This old girl.
Are you married, Mr King?
Oh, relentlessly.
Miss Inkpen - Fliss -
she had, um,
something of a reputation, yeah?
Er, reputation rather than a track
record, I think you'll find.
A tease, not an actual goer.
Or so I've heard.
So you weren't,
um, intimately acquainted?
Afraid not, he said with feeling.
If you're looking
for a crime passionnel,
you're sniffing up entirely
the wrong trouser leg.
Oh.
Beg your pardon, Mrs Millard.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Very sorry indeed to hear about -
Are you?
Are you really?
Could I have an extra loaf if you
have one on board please, Desmond?
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
is staying the night.
And, um, a jar of pesto sauce?
I must tempt the poor thing
to eat something this evening
and I know it's her favourite.
I'll drop one by later.
Cynthia Bennett
simply got in a taxi and went.
The taxi driver confirms
picking her up at Inkpen Manor
and then taking her
to a hotel in Causton.
She was seen entering the hotel.
But we don't know who she met there
or where she went when she left,
do we?
No, so she's still officially
a missing person.
But we do know that she left home
of her own accord
and that there was no sign
of foul play at the hotel.
So the sensible conclusion, Troy,
is that she simply left him?
She was an unfaithful wife
and she left her husband.
Yes. So what was Rodney Widger
so fidgety about then?
I mean, he may or may not
have had rows with Cynthia
when she lived in Inkpen Manor.
He may even have had his eye on her.
But there really is no evidence
in the file to make us suspicious.
Is there?
No.
So why go and hide in the loo
with his prostate?
God knows.
Ah, it's the lab report on the paper.
Already?
Scrapings from beneath
the victims's fingernails
match the scrap of paper
found on the scene,
which suggests that the letter
was torn from her grasp,
doesn't it, Troy?
Mm-hm.
What's the matter with you?
Seen a ghost?
No. I -
The dead don't walk, Hilary.
They stay dead.
Yes, of course.
I just didn't know who it could be
out there at this time of night.
It was me, doing what somebody else
should have done.
Did you feed Felicity's horse? No.
Nor did your mother,
nor the gardener.
Poor brute would starve to death
left to the rest of you.
Another camomile tea?
No. No, thank you.
Still nothing to eat?
Really, you should.
A little pasta?
I'm making some for myself.
No, really.
No, well, it is rather late.
Perhaps up the wooden hill
to Bedfordshire would be best.
Have they been here?
Who?
The police, Charles. The police.
Of course.
What did you say?
Nothing at all, dear boy.
Nothing at all.
You may think this incredibly
insensitive and inopportune,
but it is sometimes
therapeutic at such moments to,
well, talk about something
entirely mundane...
The, uh, York slabs.
York slabs?
Those already lifted and removed
from the memorial garden.
Do you have plans for them?
I can't say that I do, Susan, no.
Only I'd gladly take a few,
just a tiny few, of course,
off your hands.
For use here at the vicarage.
The Inkpens have always been such
generous benefactors to our church
and they would -
the slabs that is -
be, in a very real sense,
a permanent reminder of Fliss.
Help yourself.
Thank you so much.
Do make yourself comfy.
You know where the facilities are,
don't you?
Sorry?
The smallest room?
Oh. Yes of course.
Would it be possible to have a bath?
Of course. I've put the geyser on
especially for you.
I shall be in church.
I find it a most beneficial
nightcap.
I shall pray for Fliss.
Thank you.
Dear god.
Just stay calm, dear boy.
There's really nothing
to worry about.
Oh.
Ugh.
God. All yours, Crispin.
Yes, my thoughts entirely.
Oh God! Oh God!
Oh God!
Father?
Morning, Mr Bennett.
Oh.
No Jane?
Gone to Causton.
Oh.
Do you need a hand with those?
Thank you.
I hope you don't mind, but I wanted
to ask you about your wife.
Mr Bolt, I'm looking for Elspeth.
She's still at the vicarage
as far as I know.
Thank you very much.
Any progress?
We are pursuing several lines
of enquiry, Mr Bolt.
A complete and utter surprise.
It wasn't until
the following morning,
I realised all her clothes
had gone.
Well, Jane and I put two and two
together then.
All her clothes had gone?
Yes. Cynthia had her own room
in the manor house at that stage.
And her wardrobe and chest
were quite empty.
She'd removed herself completely
from my life.
Mr Barnaby. Mr Barnaby.
I'm rather concerned.
I can't rouse Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas?
Hello?
Elspeth?
Stand back.
All these will be a blaze of colour
in a few weeks' time.
You really must come
and have a look.
I'm ever so sorry, Mr Bennett.
I'm going to have to go now.
Oh, yes, of course you must.
Thank you so much for all your help.
Troy.
If I wasn't a deeply religious
person
I'd think I was bringing some kind
of curse on the Inkpens.
Two...
..two of them I've found dead
in the space of 24 hours.
And suicide.
Whilst in my care.
The door was locked.
Key on the inside.
Must my feelings be trampled on
instantly?
I have now lost a daughter as well
as a granddaughter within 24 hours.
I'm not trying to trample on
anybody's feelings Mrs Inkpen.
Nevertheless -
Suicide is quite impossible.
Unthinkable for an Inkpen.
Nevertheless your daughter did seem
deeply upset by Felicity's murder.
The fact that she felt the need
to retreat from the family home.
A theatrical gesture. Elspeth
was all show and no substance.
And you have no audience
once you're dead.
Gran.
Would you please leave us, Hilary?
I can't bear being called "Gran."
You will appreciate, Mrs Inkpen,
despite what you've said
about Elspeth,
that until the cause of death
is established,
suicide can't be ruled out.
And in the circumstances -
Circumstances?
Well, your grand-daughter's murder
having occurred
just immediately before.
You're suggesting
Elspeth killed Fliss
then took her own life
in a fit of remorse?
Well, it's got to be a possibility.
No. Especially not suicide.
Then what's your view?
Two murders in two days,
both Inkpens?
If you're looking
for a common denominator,
they'd both been entangled
with Daniel Bolt.
If you didn't already know that.
Would it be true to say
that you were ambivalent about
Elspeth's money making schemes?
No, I wasn't ambivalent at all.
I thought them shameful.
Then why didn't you stop them?
It's your garden.
Unfortunately not.
I made Inkpen Manor over to Elspeth
some time ago.
To avoid inheritance tax.
You have made history.
You heard an Inkpen admit a mistake.
With Elspeth and Fliss both dead,
Hilary inherits?
Yes. Depending on the will.
It seems a bit drastic, though,
isn't it?
To murder your own mother
when you know you'll inherit anyway.
Perhaps she couldn't wait
for Elspeth to get old.
Perhaps she needs her inheritance
in a hurry?
Possibly.
But then again, perhaps Naomi was
just directing me up the garden path.
She said herself, she's no fool.
Anyway, I don't get the impression
there's a lot else left
in the family vaults
for Hilary to get her hands on.
You don't need a lot else
if you've just come into
$2.5 million's worth of property.
So you're going with that then,
Hilary prime suspect?
No, I'm just saying if she does
inherit, she's got a motive.
And if she does or if she doesn't,
she could be next on the list.
We're down to one and a half Inkpens,
Troy, and counting.
She was one of nature's own.
And where were you when she died?
Last night, midnight onwards?
Up a tree.
Some strange Midsomer ritual,
is this?
No.
All right, which tree?
In the woods.
Anyone with you?
No.
So what exactly were you doing
up this tree?
Waiting for a badger.
There's a set in the woods
next to Rodney Widger's place.
If you're lucky
the mother brings her cubs out.
I watch with night glasses.
Keep a safe distance.
Don't want Rodney
getting wind of 'em.
Otherwise he'll be out there
with his spade and mustard gas.
And did these badgers
put in an appearance?
No, but Rodney did.
That's bloody nonsense.
I was in all evening and all night.
Wasn't I, Marie?
No. You weren't.
Mr Widger, I have to tell you
you were observed leaving home
at 11:25pm and returning at 12:35am.
Who by? The damned nosey neighbours?
Well, that had nothing to do
with Elspeth Inkpen.
Then what did it have to do with?
Can we discuss this elsewhere?
Certainly.
I knew it. I knew it.
Did you, Troy? Good.
I didn't tell you where I was when
you called me this morning, sir.
No, you didn't.
I went back to Gerald Bennett.
There's a contradiction
in the evidence, well -
Hey, Troy, take it slowly.
Yes, sir. Sorry.
The taxi driver's statement
in the missing person's file
says he collected Cynthia
from Inkpen Manor
and she only had a shoulder bag.
Yes.
Well, this morning,
Gerald Bennett told me
that when he and his daughter
looked the next day,
Cynthia's entire wardrobe had gone.
Well, you can't get an entire
wardrobe in a shoulder bag, can you?
No, you can't.
But I'm not sure how far this gets us
apropos Mr Widger.
Are you?
Well, no, sir, not exactly.
Well, you have until this afternoon
to find out.
I'd been expecting a visit
long before now.
Yes, I'm sorry sir.
We were rather overtaken by events.
Elspeth, you mean?
Well it seems to me, Mr Barnaby,
that ruling out suicide,
as one must -
Must one, Mr Deverell?
An Inkpen would no more do away with
themselves than would a Deverell.
So your view is that Elspeth
and Felicity were killed
for the same simple reason -
the Inkpens' desecration
of the memorial garden?
Are you giving the remaining two
protection?
Naomi and the young girl?
Violence begets violence, as I'm
sure you're professionally aware.
And if there is a lunatic at large,
well...
If there's a lunatic at large,
Mr Deverell, no-one is safe.
Ah. Not an apposite entrance,
I assure you.
Allow me to introduce my son,
Richard. Bishop Richard.
Though he rarely does me the honour
of dressing as such.
How do you do?
How do you do?
A chief inspector no less, Richard.
Investigating the demise
of the Inkpens.
Yes, I feel I should visit again.
Only having made an identical call
just yesterday...
..one feels entirely inadequate.
You knew Elspeth Inkpen well?
From childhood.
I find it impossible to believe
she could be murdered
over a few rose bushes
and a sundial.
You underestimate the good people
of Midsomer Deverell, Richard.
But then,
you underestimate everyone.
As a matter of routine, I'm obliged
to ask your whereabouts last night
approximately half an hour
either side of midnight?
Where I always am at that hour.
Here. In this chair.
You're just as pretty as any flower
in the garden, Hilary.
I don't know why
I've never told you before.
Even prettier now you're sad.
You just need someone
to help you unfold.
Blossom.
That neck...
..such a tender stalk.
No.
Why did you lie, Father?
To the police. You weren't here
at midnight last night.
Wasn't I?
You didn't get home till one.
Well, I'm an old man, Richard.
I'm allowed a lapse of memory.
Where had you been?
Visiting at Badger's drift.
Was it really
one o'clock? Well, well...
And where had you been,
if impertinent questions
are the order of the day?
I'd been taking the air.
For so long?
I've a lot to think about.
Alright, Mr Widger,
perhaps now you'd care to tell us
where you went last night?
I went to visit a friend.
At the other end of the village.
Charles King.
And he'll verify this, will he?
He'd damn well better,
we're in this together.
In what?
I went to warn him about you.
The police.
About your interest
in Cynthia Bennett.
Not that we did anything wrong.
Not to her. Not to anybody.
It's just that we didn't give
an entirely full account.
Well, we didn't give any account
at all, in fact. Five years ago.
Do you know something about the
disappearance of Cynthia Bennett?
No, no, nothing at all.
It was nothing to do with us.
Mr Widger. Please.
Cynthia was a very... friendly lady.
We'd had our ups and downs,
mostly over noise.
She liked a lot of noisy
modern music, did Cynthia.
But she certainly knew
how to get round a chap.
Especially in the last couple
of years they lived there.
She got a bit bored, you see.
Like I said, she was a...
..she was a very friendly lady.
She invited Charles and me
to meet her
at the Deverell Arms Hotel
in Causton.
She'd booked a room.
They don't take
a lot of notice there.
She arrived by taxi and we spent
the afternoon and evening together.
The three of you?
After dark we drove back
to Midsomer Deverell,
the three of us in Charles' car.
We dropped Cynthia off at the Manor
and then we went back to his place
for a nightcap.
Then I walked home.
The following day,
Cynthia was reported missing.
Charles and I came to the decision
that there was nothing to be gained
by coming forward.
I mean, what was the point
in clouding the issue
by publicising
our afternoon's entertainment?
Did it never occur to you, Mr King,
that your silence
prevented a proper search being
carried out for Mrs Bennett?
That assumptions were made
that wouldn't have been made
if you'd come forward?
Shh, shh. Please.
Wives do have ears you know. Even
if they have nothing between them.
It was sport, Sergeant. Pure sport.
Well, not entirely pure.
But nothing more, I assure you.
In fact, I experienced a deep sense
of loss when Cynthia vanished.
Rather like losing
a favourite golf club.
So, George?
Not pills, not booze. Not needles -
And no wound.
So now you're going to say
you can't tell me anything
until you get the toxicology
report done, right?
Au contraire.
Let me tell you,
don't believe this was suicide.
The lab found traces of olive oil
and herbs on the bedroom key.
Ah yes, pesto sauce.
There's lots of that in there.
To disguise the taste,
which is apparently foul.
The taste of what?
Did Mrs Inkpen-Thomas eat anything
when she was here, Mrs Millard?
No. No, she didn't. She wouldn't.
I did offer, of course.
But there was a dish.
A bowl, from the same set as that.
Was there? I didn't notice.
Look, please,
why are you dismantling my kitchen?
Mrs Millard.
Mrs Millard,
we are far from convinced
that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
killed herself.
She swallowed a toxic substance,
prepared in a kitchen
and then mixed with ordinary food.
No... Surely...
Not here, under my roof.
Is it possible she could've
filled the bowl herself?
From something she'd cooked here,
or something from your larder?
Well, possible,
while I was at church.
But I don't have a kitchen
full of poisons.
Was anyone else in the church?
What, at that time of night?
In this godless country of ours,
we have enough trouble filling
the pews on a Sunday morning.
Did you lock the vicarage doors,
Mrs Millard, when you went to church?
After Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
had gone upstairs?
No. I never lock the doors.
It's a point of Christian principle.
So it is possible
that someone who knew the house,
knew that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
was here,
could have gained entry
while you were elsewhere?
Well, it's possible.
The dog. Wouldn't the dog
have reacted to an intruder?
Crispin has a very positive attitude
to all humanity.
And your husband, the Vicar. He's
been gone for - how long is it now?
Four days.
When d'you expect him back?
I don't know.
The day after tomorrow. Why?
What does he think of the Inkpens
and their commercial exploitation
of the village?
He looks for the best in everyone.
Even adulterers? Female adulterers?
Jezebels?
Oh, yes. He'd especially
try to help them.
And what is your view of such women,
Mrs Millard?
I firmly believe in the sanctity of
marriage and that adultery is a sin.
An old fashioned word that,
Mr Barnaby,
but perhaps the world
would be a better place
if more people were prepared
to fight sin
when and where they find it.
One can take appeasement
only so far.
Here you are.
Tom. You're home very early.
You've caught me digging up
rather too much of your lawn.
Yeah, I'm still working actually.
Do you have pictures in
those plant encyclopaedias of yours?
Yes. Why? What are you looking up?
A for aconite.
What do you think you're doing?
Mrs Inkpen.
Well?
I am conducting a murder
investigation, Mrs Inkpen.
That is what I am doing.
These plants. Have you picked
any of them recently?
Of course I haven't.
One doesn't need monkshood in the
house when one has plenty of roses.
Monkshood?
So you know the common name do you?
Then you'll also know these plants
are among the most toxic
that we grow in the country?
Your interest is professional?
No, no, it's practical.
So if you don't put them in the house
in vases, what do you do with them?
We leave them alone.
Well, you should know, Mr Bolt.
Being the gardener.
You eat the roots of this, Troy,
cooked or raw, and you're a goner.
And this was crudely done.
George Bullard could still see bits
in the stomach contents.
Someone's tried very hard
to make it look like a suicide,
but the bedroom key
has got food on it.
My scenario is that they
force-fed Elspeth with this stuff,
then put the key back in the lock
before they climbed out through the
window, leaving her to die horribly.
And she would have died horribly.
Aconite doesn't provide
a painless exit.
So we're looking for someone
who really, really hated her.
But who, Troy, who?
And will they kill again?
We need a breakthrough.
Allow me, sir.
See?
"This stone laid 18th June 1996
by Gerald Bennett."
Cynthia Bennett disappeared
on the 11th. Just a week before.
Sir, if you had been very
indiscreet,
if you regarded the woman you'd been
playing away with as a tart
and cared more for your social
standing than her life,
and had murdered her,
then what better place to bury her?
They're digging a hole.
Who are?
The police.
Forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those
who trespass against us.
Forgive those sins
that destroy our peace on Earth.
Murder, adultery.
I'm so sorry to disturb you,
Mrs Millard.
Dad sent these for the church.
What are they looking for?
I really don't know.
But I don't want to watch.
I'm going for a walk.
Would you like to come?
But soon, eh?
Sir!
Cynthia.
Troy... Troy?
You can't know it's Cynthia.
We'll know by tomorrow, Mr Widger.
The skull has a full set of teeth.
So I'll tell you what I think.
I think that after five years
you've finally told the truth...
..but not the whole truth.
Yes, you and Charles King
brought Cynthia back to Inkpen Manor
but no, you didn't drop her off,
you dropped her in a hole.
You were scared
your afternoon's entertainment
wouldn't remain a secret,
Cynthia would blab.
And being pillars of the community,
you wouldn't want that.
So you killed her.
The police are pursuing
their enquiries with pick-axes.
I appreciate your coming, Richard.
One can only hope you don't
feel obliged to make a third visit.
It hardly seems appropriate
to mention it
but I shall be leaving
at the weekend.
My latest pilgrimage to Rome.
I wish you better fortune this time.
And I'm sure Elspeth
would have done the same.
I should like to think so.
What the hell
are you playing at, Troy?
Fronting up Widger, sir -
Yes, and?
Well, he denies murder of course
but there's still Charles.
There's still a next of kin
to be informed, Troy.
To make an identification, even.
I'm sorry, sir. I was out of order.
Procedurally.
Yeah, yeah.
I'm just wondering if we're not
out of order in a more dangerous way.
Have we missed
the blindingly obvious?
Which is?
Gerald Bennett.
Gerald Bennett? He couldn't
have whacked Fliss on the head
or climbed through
a casement window.
Granted. But he's not always been
as frail as he is today.
He is Cynthia's wronged husband
and if he did kill her no-one -
no-one - had a better opportunity
to bury her.
Jane?
Hi.
Sorry, darling. I needed a nap.
Cup of tea?
Oh, yes. Please.
I should go.
Goodbye, Hilary.
I hope we meet again.
Mr Bennett?
Sorry, you're dead.
And you.
And you were quite lovely,
such rare beauty.
Now you simply flowered yourself
to death, didn't you?
Such exuberance.
Ah, but little aquilegia.
Such...
..such sweet old-fashioned charm.
Just as beautiful
as your showy, glitzy sisters.
Nothing. No-one seems to have seen
her since yesterday evening.
It could have been King, sir,
the other party in the hotel room.
He would have had time
after I spoke to him.
No, Troy.
There's a daughter here who
loved her father very, very much.
A daughter whose face is everywhere.
A daughter who spoke passionately,
vehemently,
against digging up
the memorial garden.
Got to find Jane Bennett.
I thought you'd gone
to Rome without telling me.
Just Causton. To the bank.
There was a phone call.
Father, we need to talk
about money.
How do you rate your chances
this time, Richard?
Election to the sacred college?
Well, obviously I'm in the running
but it's a very long process.
Certain things still matter though.
Conduct. Behaviour.
Those found wanting
are going to be weeded out.
Do you know how much it would mean
to me for you to become a cardinal?
You, the last Deverell,
being the first ever in 500 years
to rise so high.
Father, it's not the be-all
and end-all.
Isn't it?
It's the only thing
I stay alive for.
Father, the bank.
Saw Hilary, did you? When you paid
your respects at the Manor?
Yes, I saw Hilary.
And what did you think?
How did she strike you?
I knew where she was going, you see.
And I had a good idea
who she was meeting.
It wasn't so much
that she was carrying on,
It was the fact that she and they,
and all the others before them,
took such pleasure
in Dad not realising.
The smirking and sniggering,
the making fun behind his back,
I just... couldn't take any more.
So I waited for her
to come back from Causton
and strangled her
with a pair of tights.
She was drunk,
and I'm... quite strong.
I'd already planned
what to do with her.
I rather liked the idea that when
the memorial garden was finished,
people would walk all over her
like she'd walked all over Dad.
So then I cleared her things
and hid them in my car
and took them to the dump next day.
I knew Widger and King wouldn't
come forward
when we reported her missing...
The downside was that Dad actually
did miss her.
His health was already
deteriorating anyway
and the manor just suddenly
seemed just too big.
The cottage was right for him,
though.
He's been happy there.
Until the Inkpens started
digging up the past?
If he'd discovered
what my mother was really like...
it would have broken his heart.
He didn't have
much time left, anyway.
Better to finish it gently
without the truth.
He was such an innocent.
I couldn't bear him to lose that
right at the end.
But it's still murder, Miss Bennett.
And you have to understand that,
given your very clear reason for not
wanting the memorial garden dug up,
you are now prime suspect
for the deaths of Felicity Inkpen
and her mother -
what I have done,
I have done for my father.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I hated my mother. Not the Inkpens.
Others hated them.
Don't build up your hopes.
Not while there are still
three of them left.
Merciless bloodsuckers...
Bloodsuckers.
That's an odd expression
in the context of what was going
on at Inkpen manor.
She could be winding us up, sir.
She was desperate
to stop the digging,
and murdering Inkpens
was a way of doing it.
Plus she's young and fit,
she knows the vicarage
and she knows about plants.
If it was just desperation Troy,
why kill Elspeth so, so horribly?
Why not just strangle her
or bash her over the head?
Elspeth suffered.
There was real hatred there.
Or stark raving madness.
Yeah possibly.
But hate, Troy,
or greed are more common.
Ah, this is from the solicitor.
Elspeth's will.
Ah, don't tell me. The Gardeners'
Benevolent Society?
There was no money
but the house is left jointly
to Hilary and Fliss..
..and Daniel Bolt, the gardener.
I do understand why you keep
shying away from me, Hilary.
I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking this man made love
to my sister and my mother
and now they're both dead.
But, if you're honest,
don't you agree
there's something about death
that makes you want
to reaffirm life?
You shouldn't deny that instinct.
Nature doesn't.
Nature does just what it likes.
Because nature knows
what's best.
Instinctively.
The lilium speciosum doesn't mourn.
It just turns
its delicate neck to the sun.
Actually I was looking
for your father, sir.
Is he at home?
No.
No he isn't but do come in. Please.
Do you know who I am?
Mr Richard Deverell,
uh, Bishop Richard Deverell.
I have only just found out who I am.
I am... was
the lover of Elspeth Inkpen.
No. I knew that, of course.
I am the father
of her illegitimate child.
I did not know that.
Hilary Inkpen is my daughter.
And my father,
my damnable father has...
Where is Mr Deverell, please?
Gone to see her.
Naomi Inkpen.
To deliver his latest tribute.
She must have cash, it seems.
She must have real money
in her hands
and it must be placed there by him.
The price is humiliation
as well as money...
The price of what?
Her forbearance.
Until I am elected Cardinal.
Rome? The Vatican?
You know my father funded
the Inkpens' repurchase of their
"rightful family home".
It may seem a small enough
indiscretion in the modern world
to have fathered a child,
but my father is convinced otherwise
and convinced that the Vatican
would share his view.
He's right.
And he is desperate that I should
succeed this time.
If you need proof,
read the letter.
"My dear Augustus,
an ecclesiastical bird has told me
that Richard, your Richard,
has high hopes of at last
fulfilling the Deverell dream.
We Inkpens will hear nothing
said against him.
Provided of course, that you honour
your obligations to your friends.
In which respect with the recent
arrival of Hilary in our midst,
we are now in possession of what
might be described
as the walking DNA proof.
Yours in anticipation."
Mr Bolt.
Mr Bolt?
Sir?
Troy.
Augustus Deverell is heading
for Inkpen manor.
Stop him.
Don't let him get near to Naomi.
I'll be with you in a few minutes.
Excuse me!
Not now, Mr Widger.
I've been burgled!
Not interested.
You damn well will be.
Augustus.
Such old-world punctuality.
Mrs Inkpen?
Mrs Inkpen...?
She's not in the garden.
All right, Gran?
Smell the blood?
You like the blood, don't you?
A bit of "DNA proof",
as it says in the letter?
And I was stupid enough to think
I was wanted here.
Not loved, I never hoped for that,
not from you anyway...
But I wasn't even wanted,
was I? Was I?
Not even by Mum.
Not wanted for myself. Just used...
Just turned to advantage.
Yes, look away.
What did the three of you do?
Get it out and gloat over it
once a week?
Why else keep a copy in the house?
Fliss laughed so much
when she told me,
when she read that out.
Fliss was a stupid little bitch.
Dead little bitch now.
She opened my eyes
so I opened her head.
But she's the only one of you
I've killed in anger.
I took pleasure over Mum.
I stuffed her bloody garden
right down her throat.
And I'm going to make a mess of you.
Because you don't like mess.
Everything must be just so,
mustn't it.
On the outside.
Well I don't want you going to hell
looking tidy!
Mrs Millard?
Sergeant Troy.
Chief inspector Barnaby just thought
we ought to let you know
we shan't be needing your
kitchen utensils any more.
Poor Hilary...
Yes.
And poor Jane Bennett.
It's most troubling
to one's conscience
that some crimes
seem entirely justified.
Jane's is one of them.
I've always felt,
as I told Mr Barnaby,
that adultery is one of the most
despicable of all human activities.
Nice patio. New?
Very. I find hard work
an aid to prayer
and there has been so much
to pray about recently.
And, uh, still no vicar?
Good evening.
Arthur, this is Sergeant Troy.
How do you do.
Hello.
Would you care to join us for tea
and an ecumenical debrief?
Uh, no. Thank you.
It's a relief, I mean,
a pleasure to meet you, Vicar.
I'd best be off.
Bye, Crispin.
And as well as the White Bedder,
I've brought you a few
Pennington gems...
Oh, that's very kind of you, Daniel.
Bear in mind the White Bedder
is vigorous and very erect,
so make sure you put it
where you want it,
otherwise it's likely to, um,
overshadow lesser plants.
Yes, I see.
I'd be quite happy to come back and
make sure everything's nicely...
..bedded in?
Ah, Mr Barnaby.
Right, well uh, I'll be off then.
I was going to offer him a drink.
I think he had some propagating
to do elsewhere.
Come on, I'll make you one.
Is there any lawn left to sit on?
Penstemon digitalis.
Penstemon strictus.
Ligularia dentata.
Platycodon grandifloris.
Dianthus superbus!
Oh, for God's sake!
Morning, Mrs Inkpen.
Odious little upstart.
Hey!
Come on.
How long you gonna be?
This is a plan of the gardens.
We have an absolutely beautiful
collection of euphorbias.
But unfortunately no video arcade.
The Inkpens have been here
since the Reformation.
They've had long enough to organize
a decent car park then, haven't they?
Naomi had to sell 25 years ago.
Her husband died,
left her penniless.
A stockbroker called Gerald Bennett
bought the place.
They're back of course, now,
the Inkpens.
Good God, it's 11 quid.
How do you know all this?
Desmond, from the village shop.
He delivers our organic meat.
I didn't know we'd gone organic?
Hadn't you noticed the difference?
No.
You haven't gone to golf then?
No, I haven't gone to golf.
Euphorbias, yeah?
Very good.
Any chance of a cup of tea?
Going for a ride, darling?
No, a swim.
Daniel just gave me this.
Apparently you were making
some kind of point?
About ageing mothers?
Well, you know what they say, dear -
the old varieties
smell the sweetest.
Take those to the ticket office,
Hilary, we're nearly out.
These are beautiful.
Flowers very well
right through to autumn.
I haven't seen them before,
are they hard to propagate?
No, not really, just softwood
cuttings from non-flowering shoots.
Do you live locally?
Uh, yes, fairly. Causton.
I'll be doing some of these
next week,
I could drop you over a few
if you like.
What's the name?
Uh, Barnaby. Joyce.
But really it's -
No, it's no problem.
They deserve wider appreciation.
What's the address?
Parchmore Close. Number 6.
Parchmore. Right.
Well, consider it done, Joyce.
See you next week.
Thank you.
Well, how kind.
Next time it'll be one
of those bitches, so help me.
This is not the wild west, sir.
I'm afraid you are under arrest.
I have had enough!
I can hardly be blamed
for Rodney Widger's behaviour.
I'm not talking about Widger.
If you must fornicate
at least have the dignity
not to fight like a pair of polecats
over the trousers concerned.
And as for the garden -
My garden, Mother.
My garden, and my gardener.
Then face the consequences
of your money-grubbing actions.
Yes, well, when it comes
to grubbing money -
Hilary. Would you bring me
my whiskey and water, please.
And I'll have another G&T.
Mum?
No, thank you.
Hello, Dad.
Dad?
What's the matter?
Desmond.
Hello, Jane.
I've just heard about the memorial.
What on earth are they doing?
Elspeth's idea.
The manor garden
is getting so popular
she decided they need a tearoom.
And that's where she's gonna
build it.
But she can't.
It'll break Dad's heart.
You know there's a meeting tonight?
Oi, Daniel, give us some.
Go on, you promised.
I told you, no.
You give some to me sister.
How do you know about that?
She told me.
She is only 15, his sister.
One bottle. And don't ride
your bikes afterwards.
Mum?
Yes, darling.
What's going on?
Between you and Fliss?
Pay no attention to your sister,
dear.
Whatever she says. Ever.
She's just a bad-tempered
little madam.
I sometimes wish I'd given her up
for adoption rather than you.
Oh dear, rustics approaching.
Just so that you don't forget,
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Village hall, 7:30.
There's really nowhere else
I'd rather be, Desmond.
I'm just delighted to be the cause
of so much excitement.
Whoever said
the English village was dead?
Richard!
No driver? No chaplain?
You could be a commercial salesman
instead of a bishop.
Good evening, Father.
Are you well?
Well enough to give those damned
Inkpens a bloody nose.
I'll see you later.
Unless you want to come?
Uh, where to exactly?
Village hall.
The villagers have turned to me.
I'm sorry.
Nice to be a Deverell
where a Deverell should be -
central to events.
Did you know
it was your anniversary today?
Two years since you walked
into our lives here?
Into the bosom
of your long lost family.
Yes. Yes, I did know.
Are you still glad you did?
All that time and effort
in tracing us.
Have we been what you'd hoped for?
I've got no complaints.
How wonderfully magnanimous of you.
I do understand, Fliss.
How it must have been for you
when I turned up.
Because there's been
a bastard lurking.
You think I'm jealous? Resentful?
Do you think I hate you?
I don't hate you,
I pity you.
Because what you -
Are you coming to the meeting?
You don't think
this is a bit voyeuristic?
Not at all, it's a public meeting.
And I'm interested.
I hope you're not planning to speak?
No, but I can vote if they ask
for a show of hands.
Oh, look who's here.
What?
The man with the shotgun.
Uniform must have bailed him.
You never finished
what you were saying.
Indoors earlier,
you said you pitied me.
Why?
Because we have different fathers.
But I know that.
If you were a gentleman,
you would move
to allow my daughter and I
to sit together.
If you were a lady,
I shouldn't hesitate.
There are still seats
further back, Mrs Inkpen.
Further back?
I have not sat further back
in my entire life.
Mrs Inkpen's humility
is the greatest of the many gifts
she has passed to her descendants.
Mother.
Ladies and gentlemen,
if I could just call this meeting
to order.
The vicar sends his apologies
for absence
and peaceful blessings to all
but we do welcome particularly this
evening, Mrs Elspeth Inkpen-Thomas,
and thank her for agreeing
to take part
in what promises to be
a lively discussion.
Though I'm quite sure
that in the words
of the memorial garden itself
common sense and tolerance
will inform our debate.
Who will speak first?
Jane Bennett.
Daughter of Gerald Bennett,
who created the memorial garden.
To dig up that beautiful place,
which gives pleasure
and sense of community to so many
and replace it with
a commercial teashop
is an act
of unspeakable vandalism.
Hear, hear.
And I should just like to ask
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
by what right she takes back
and destroys
what was freely given
to this village by my father.
Mrs Millard, members
of the village committee.
Miss Bennett asks by what right?
Well, the simple answer
is the right of ownership.
When her father sold Inkpen Manor
back to the Inkpens five years ago
there were no caveats,
no exclusions.
Legally the memorial garden
is our property.
All Mr Bennett did,
apart from create it,
was to grant right of access
to the villagers.
All we are doing is withdrawing
that right.
And frankly
what we Inkpens choose to do
in that respect
is the business of nobody
in this hall tonight.
I mean, really,
if the village really wants
a naff memorial garden...
..a naff memorial garden
let it build one somewhere else.
I bet you can't wait
to turn this into a teashop,
being on Mummy's side in everything.
Was your father
particularly nice then, Fliss?
Is that what you meant?
I know mine's a mystery
but yours, Mum's husband?
Nice?
Good God, no.
He ran off and left us aeons ago.
Way before we pitched up here.
It's an Inkpen tradition,
choosing lousy men.
Of course, you'll probably end up
with Prince Charming.
But he must have provided.
I mean, how could you afford
to keep -
All this? To regain our heritage?
Riches to rags to riches again?
It's a fairy story, darling.
Ugh.
Did you buy this?
Yes, at the shop.
We've been so remiss
with your education, Hilary.
Would you like to know
what I really meant?
Order. Order.
Order!
What are you doing in here?
Got the short straw, sir.
Uniform covering their backs -
asked CID to check out
the Widger-Inkpen situation.
Which one's Widger anyhow?
What is it? Is it about me?
Possibly. Mm... possibly not.
What's the matter?
Don't you want to know?
No. I don't.
I don't like you
when you're like this.
Oh.
Well, you weren't much help.
I kept quiet, didn't I?
Meaning?
Meaning I think you're wrong.
You don't have to antagonise
the whole village like this.
Oh, we care about village opinion
now, do we?
Don't be stupid.
Maybe you're just keeping
all your options open?
What options?
There must be somebody in the
village you haven't slept with yet.
Troy.
Sir?
You go back inside.
Try and find out what those lads
were on, would you?
Don't turn away
when I'm speaking to you.
Where are you going?
Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember?
Dirt.
So... much... dirt.
Heel.
Good boy. Heel.
Crispin.
Crispin.
There it is - got it.
Penstemon White Bedder.
Height 70 centimetres.
Spread 60.
They'd look terrific
in that far corner.
Hello?
I might have to chop off
a bit of lawn.
You wouldn't mind, would you?
Troy.
Morning, sir.
How are we getting on?
Secured the scene.
Haven't had time for much else.
But I'd say a heavy blow to the head
with a blunt instrument.
She's been dead overnight, stiff
as a board and covered in snails.
And there's a possible bit
of forensic.
It's not much but -
Oh, I haven't touched it.
If you look closely there's
a tiny black mark - ink maybe?
Is it writing?
The end squiggle of a signature
even - as it's in a corner?
Yeah. Well done, Troy.
There's nothing else.
Who found her?
Crispin.
Crispin?
He's a black labrador.
I've been struggling
with my conscience,
as every good Christian must,
and there is something else
I should tell you.
One doesn't like to tell tales,
especially as a result
of what one has quite...
..inadvertently overheard...
..but last night,
after the meeting...
Where are you going?
Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember?
I asked, "Where are you going?"
and he said, "Back to the garden."
Those were his exact words.
Did you follow him?
Follow him?
Do you know for certain that he went
straight to the garden?
There and then?
I do not follow men.
Excuse me.
It's Mr Bolt, isn't it?
Yeah.
Detective Sergeant Troy.
Insecticide. Organic.
Insecticide, sir?
How's it kill 'em,
alcohol poisoning?
Could I ask when you last saw
Miss Felicity Inkpen, sir?
What, alive?
Sorry. Of course alive.
Um, last evening, about 7:50.
Just before I left
for the village meeting.
Not after the meeting then?
No.
No, definitely not.
I went straight home. Up the lane.
Not to the memorial garden.
Not "back to the garden" at all?
No.
You were heard to say that -
"back to the garden."
I was annoyed about the meeting.
I was simply making a point -
I'm a gardener. Nothing more.
Just a gardener.
Not a ladies' man then, sir?
And you and your daughter Felicity.
You were on good terms?
Who says otherwise?
She was a dear
and beautiful daughter.
She was her mother's child
and I loved her more
than I loved anyone else
in this whole horrible world.
It's Hilary, isn't it?
I've been waiting for you.
Last night
Fliss "came and found" you.
Could I ask you why?
Just to torment me.
It was her favourite pastime.
Oh, you didn't get on?
No.
That must have been a bit difficult,
living and working
under the same roof?
Fliss didn't work.
She'd tried modelling and acting.
Without any luck.
Well, they're hard to get into,
aren't they?
So she just hung about here,
bored out of her skull.
And do you know if any other people
felt the same way about her
as you did?
I mean, did she "torment" anyone
else?
Well, everyone really.
It was her thing.
A kind of attention seeking,
I suppose.
But anyone specific?
Mum, Daniel, Rodney Widger -
Oh, the shotgun man?
I'm sorry,
Fliss and I didn't like each other
but it's not very nice
talking about her like this.
Sir!
Excuse me.
I'm Detective Chief Inspector
Barnaby.
Your grand-daughter
has been murdered.
So you'll understand that we have
to make certain enquiries.
May I just ask you,
when did you last see Felicity?
Was it before you went to
the village hall or afterwards?
I know that you left the meeting
um... early.
I find your manner and your
insinuations extremely offensive.
And I have to say that
I'm not entirely overwhelmed
by the courtesy of your reply.
Do you really imagine
I am not devastated
by my grand-daughter's death?
Endangered species such as ours
do not reduce their numbers
from within.
Have you not the wit
to look elsewhere?
When there is a madman with
a shotgun just across the lane,
and a young woman with an unhealthy
emotional attachment to her father
half a mile up it?
The madman with the shotgun's
presumably Widger.
Who's the girl with
the unhealthy attachment?
Get in the car. I'll show you.
Morning.
Bit of a bugger last night.
Yes, yes,
murder's never very pleasant, is it?
I was talking about the meeting.
Mr Cox?
Did you go straight home last night
after the meeting?
No, I went for a pint
over at Mallow.
Who with?
Charles King.
He lives opposite the village hall
if you need to check.
Oh, we do, Mr Cox, we do.
On everyone.
I was being facetious, you know,
about the murder.
It's just there won't be many
at the funeral.
So I'm a suspect?!
You made an impassioned speech.
You left the meeting early.
And I have nothing but contempt
for the whole Inkpen clan,
but why should I kill Fliss?
Elspeth's the one
destroying Dad's garden.
Except that will now stop,
I should imagine,
for the time being at least.
Jane, I do appreciate how upset -
Do you?
Do you really?
That garden was my father's life
for 20 years.
It was him who made it
what it is today, not the Inkpens.
Now he's just too ill
and tired to fight.
I have to be his champion.
And I will be.
Do you like gardening?
It's become quite fashionable
with the young, I believe.
Don't have to be a botanist
like my Jane.
I watch it on TV sometimes,
when there's no football.
Oh, I like football.
I saw the game last night.
What, live?
Never miss a live match.
Anyone with you?
Yes, Jane came in at half time
but I prefer to watch on my own,
stops me getting ticked off,
for getting too excited.
Do you know a man called
Rodney Widger, Mr Bennett?
I believe you used to be neighbours.
Yes.
Yes, in my "former life"
as I call it.
He was an intemperate man.
Never knew when he was going
to fly off the handle.
We didn't have
a lot to do with him.
We being you and your daughter?
No, my wife, Cynthia.
Jane was away at university then.
She's done ever so well,
she's got an MSC, you know.
Mmm. You were saying
about Rodney Widger?
Oh, yes, I'm afraid Cynthia
used to goad him deliberately.
She could be quite wicked sometimes,
you know.
I expect he was quite relieved
when she went.
Went?
Oh, yes.
I reported her as a missing person,
of course.
But I'm sure she was getting fed up
with taking second place
to Antirrhinums.
Why are you putting Dad through
all that again?
I'm sorry, I was just asking
Mr Bennett about your ex-neighbour,
Rodney Widger.
Do you see anything of him nowadays?
Only when he walks past
with his shotgun.
Goes "culling vermin" as he puts it.
Foxes, rabbits, pigeons.
Most gardeners would make do
with a bit of netting.
Rodney's solution with pests
is to kill them.
The simple reason I left the meeting
early was that I needed the loo.
Urgently.
I've had a touch of cystitis.
Prostate.
I have not got a prostate.
I came home, straight home,
answered the call of nature
and then watched the second half
of the football.
But you don't deny you'd had an
altercation earlier in the day?
I'd had an altercation
with a motor car
and been bailed to appear before
the magistrates.
I've been threatened
with removal of my shotgun
and I bitterly resent
being harassed in this way
when all I've ever done
is try to preserve my property.
Aren't there any toilets
at the village hall?
If you were desperate.
Oh, for God's sake!
She doesn't unlock them. Alright?
The Millard woman.
She doesn't like the idea of men,
she doesn't like the idea of men
full stop.
Can you tell us
anything about Cynthia Bennett?
Used to live at Inkpen manor.
We know where she used to live,
thank you.
Only we're reviewing
our missing persons files.
Excuse me. I need the loo. Urgently.
What was that all about, sir -
Cynthia Bennett, missing persons?
I was waiting for you to throw
that in, Troy. You said it.
Cynthia was apparently
a thorn in Widger's side.
Just like the Inkpen girl.
Oh, will you stop blubbing!
She brought it on herself.
You've both brought everything
on yourselves.
Cavorting with Daniel,
insulting Widger,
raising two fingers
to the entire village
when you're not raising
your skirts, that is!
You heartless old bitch!
Mum, Mum, she doesn't mean it.
I mean every syllable.
Is this how our 500 years
are to end?
Like an episode in some sordid
television soap opera?
You've about as much noblesse oblige
as a fishwife in a brothel.
I'm leaving.
Mum.
I've just heard.
Elspeth, I'm most dreadfully sorry.
Thank you, Richard. Thank you.
If anyone wants me,
or your grandmother drops dead,
I'll be at the vicarage.
Uh, I don't think we've ever met.
I'm Richard Deverell.
Hilary, I'd like some tea.
Susan, I need a room for the night.
No, if you're digging up the lawn,
you're digging up the lawn.
Big bits, small bits,
all fine by me.
Now I really just phoned to say
I don't know -
Well, I don't know
when I'm gonna be home.
Right.
And you.
I'll speak to you later. Bye.
Tell him.
Pumpey?
Yes. Pumpey.
It's sort of like scrumpy only -
Lethal?
Better. A subtle blend of apple and
potato with a tincture of garlic.
So where's the still
or reactor or whatever?
I got rid of it. Last night.
After the meeting.
So you were here?
Not in the memorial garden.
I didn't go near the memorial
garden, I didn't see anyone.
But you didn't go straight home.
You lied, Mr Bolt.
Well, what would you do if you
thought you'd killed someone?
I mean the boys.
I thought they might have -
if they'd gone into a coma
or their livers had packed up or...
I'm talking about the boys.
Don't leave the village, Mr Bolt.
And stay off the pumpey.
What I can't understand, sir,
is what the women see in him.
He's got dirt under his fingernails.
Mrs Inkpen,
I'm sorry to trouble you again,
I was hoping to see your daughter.
She's not here.
Oh. May I enquire -
At the vicarage.
Tea and sympathy.
Oh, fine.
Uh, while I'm here, I wonder,
do you recall Felicity receiving
a letter
in the last couple of days?
A letter? Felicity.
That seems highly improbable.
She only ever communicated
by mobile phone.
To the vicarage?
No, it'll keep. I've seen enough
Inkpens for one day.
Anyway, we'll see if the lab comes up
with something
on that scrap of paper.
So what now then?
I'm checking alibis.
Desmond's absolutely right.
We went straight from the hall
to the Crooked Billet.
Took Janet.
Janet?
This old girl.
Are you married, Mr King?
Oh, relentlessly.
Miss Inkpen - Fliss -
she had, um,
something of a reputation, yeah?
Er, reputation rather than a track
record, I think you'll find.
A tease, not an actual goer.
Or so I've heard.
So you weren't,
um, intimately acquainted?
Afraid not, he said with feeling.
If you're looking
for a crime passionnel,
you're sniffing up entirely
the wrong trouser leg.
Oh.
Beg your pardon, Mrs Millard.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Very sorry indeed to hear about -
Are you?
Are you really?
Could I have an extra loaf if you
have one on board please, Desmond?
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
is staying the night.
And, um, a jar of pesto sauce?
I must tempt the poor thing
to eat something this evening
and I know it's her favourite.
I'll drop one by later.
Cynthia Bennett
simply got in a taxi and went.
The taxi driver confirms
picking her up at Inkpen Manor
and then taking her
to a hotel in Causton.
She was seen entering the hotel.
But we don't know who she met there
or where she went when she left,
do we?
No, so she's still officially
a missing person.
But we do know that she left home
of her own accord
and that there was no sign
of foul play at the hotel.
So the sensible conclusion, Troy,
is that she simply left him?
She was an unfaithful wife
and she left her husband.
Yes. So what was Rodney Widger
so fidgety about then?
I mean, he may or may not
have had rows with Cynthia
when she lived in Inkpen Manor.
He may even have had his eye on her.
But there really is no evidence
in the file to make us suspicious.
Is there?
No.
So why go and hide in the loo
with his prostate?
God knows.
Ah, it's the lab report on the paper.
Already?
Scrapings from beneath
the victims's fingernails
match the scrap of paper
found on the scene,
which suggests that the letter
was torn from her grasp,
doesn't it, Troy?
Mm-hm.
What's the matter with you?
Seen a ghost?
No. I -
The dead don't walk, Hilary.
They stay dead.
Yes, of course.
I just didn't know who it could be
out there at this time of night.
It was me, doing what somebody else
should have done.
Did you feed Felicity's horse? No.
Nor did your mother,
nor the gardener.
Poor brute would starve to death
left to the rest of you.
Another camomile tea?
No. No, thank you.
Still nothing to eat?
Really, you should.
A little pasta?
I'm making some for myself.
No, really.
No, well, it is rather late.
Perhaps up the wooden hill
to Bedfordshire would be best.
Have they been here?
Who?
The police, Charles. The police.
Of course.
What did you say?
Nothing at all, dear boy.
Nothing at all.
You may think this incredibly
insensitive and inopportune,
but it is sometimes
therapeutic at such moments to,
well, talk about something
entirely mundane...
The, uh, York slabs.
York slabs?
Those already lifted and removed
from the memorial garden.
Do you have plans for them?
I can't say that I do, Susan, no.
Only I'd gladly take a few,
just a tiny few, of course,
off your hands.
For use here at the vicarage.
The Inkpens have always been such
generous benefactors to our church
and they would -
the slabs that is -
be, in a very real sense,
a permanent reminder of Fliss.
Help yourself.
Thank you so much.
Do make yourself comfy.
You know where the facilities are,
don't you?
Sorry?
The smallest room?
Oh. Yes of course.
Would it be possible to have a bath?
Of course. I've put the geyser on
especially for you.
I shall be in church.
I find it a most beneficial
nightcap.
I shall pray for Fliss.
Thank you.
Dear god.
Just stay calm, dear boy.
There's really nothing
to worry about.
Oh.
Ugh.
God. All yours, Crispin.
Yes, my thoughts entirely.
Oh God! Oh God!
Oh God!
Father?
Morning, Mr Bennett.
Oh.
No Jane?
Gone to Causton.
Oh.
Do you need a hand with those?
Thank you.
I hope you don't mind, but I wanted
to ask you about your wife.
Mr Bolt, I'm looking for Elspeth.
She's still at the vicarage
as far as I know.
Thank you very much.
Any progress?
We are pursuing several lines
of enquiry, Mr Bolt.
A complete and utter surprise.
It wasn't until
the following morning,
I realised all her clothes
had gone.
Well, Jane and I put two and two
together then.
All her clothes had gone?
Yes. Cynthia had her own room
in the manor house at that stage.
And her wardrobe and chest
were quite empty.
She'd removed herself completely
from my life.
Mr Barnaby. Mr Barnaby.
I'm rather concerned.
I can't rouse Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas?
Hello?
Elspeth?
Stand back.
All these will be a blaze of colour
in a few weeks' time.
You really must come
and have a look.
I'm ever so sorry, Mr Bennett.
I'm going to have to go now.
Oh, yes, of course you must.
Thank you so much for all your help.
Troy.
If I wasn't a deeply religious
person
I'd think I was bringing some kind
of curse on the Inkpens.
Two...
..two of them I've found dead
in the space of 24 hours.
And suicide.
Whilst in my care.
The door was locked.
Key on the inside.
Must my feelings be trampled on
instantly?
I have now lost a daughter as well
as a granddaughter within 24 hours.
I'm not trying to trample on
anybody's feelings Mrs Inkpen.
Nevertheless -
Suicide is quite impossible.
Unthinkable for an Inkpen.
Nevertheless your daughter did seem
deeply upset by Felicity's murder.
The fact that she felt the need
to retreat from the family home.
A theatrical gesture. Elspeth
was all show and no substance.
And you have no audience
once you're dead.
Gran.
Would you please leave us, Hilary?
I can't bear being called "Gran."
You will appreciate, Mrs Inkpen,
despite what you've said
about Elspeth,
that until the cause of death
is established,
suicide can't be ruled out.
And in the circumstances -
Circumstances?
Well, your grand-daughter's murder
having occurred
just immediately before.
You're suggesting
Elspeth killed Fliss
then took her own life
in a fit of remorse?
Well, it's got to be a possibility.
No. Especially not suicide.
Then what's your view?
Two murders in two days,
both Inkpens?
If you're looking
for a common denominator,
they'd both been entangled
with Daniel Bolt.
If you didn't already know that.
Would it be true to say
that you were ambivalent about
Elspeth's money making schemes?
No, I wasn't ambivalent at all.
I thought them shameful.
Then why didn't you stop them?
It's your garden.
Unfortunately not.
I made Inkpen Manor over to Elspeth
some time ago.
To avoid inheritance tax.
You have made history.
You heard an Inkpen admit a mistake.
With Elspeth and Fliss both dead,
Hilary inherits?
Yes. Depending on the will.
It seems a bit drastic, though,
isn't it?
To murder your own mother
when you know you'll inherit anyway.
Perhaps she couldn't wait
for Elspeth to get old.
Perhaps she needs her inheritance
in a hurry?
Possibly.
But then again, perhaps Naomi was
just directing me up the garden path.
She said herself, she's no fool.
Anyway, I don't get the impression
there's a lot else left
in the family vaults
for Hilary to get her hands on.
You don't need a lot else
if you've just come into
$2.5 million's worth of property.
So you're going with that then,
Hilary prime suspect?
No, I'm just saying if she does
inherit, she's got a motive.
And if she does or if she doesn't,
she could be next on the list.
We're down to one and a half Inkpens,
Troy, and counting.
She was one of nature's own.
And where were you when she died?
Last night, midnight onwards?
Up a tree.
Some strange Midsomer ritual,
is this?
No.
All right, which tree?
In the woods.
Anyone with you?
No.
So what exactly were you doing
up this tree?
Waiting for a badger.
There's a set in the woods
next to Rodney Widger's place.
If you're lucky
the mother brings her cubs out.
I watch with night glasses.
Keep a safe distance.
Don't want Rodney
getting wind of 'em.
Otherwise he'll be out there
with his spade and mustard gas.
And did these badgers
put in an appearance?
No, but Rodney did.
That's bloody nonsense.
I was in all evening and all night.
Wasn't I, Marie?
No. You weren't.
Mr Widger, I have to tell you
you were observed leaving home
at 11:25pm and returning at 12:35am.
Who by? The damned nosey neighbours?
Well, that had nothing to do
with Elspeth Inkpen.
Then what did it have to do with?
Can we discuss this elsewhere?
Certainly.
I knew it. I knew it.
Did you, Troy? Good.
I didn't tell you where I was when
you called me this morning, sir.
No, you didn't.
I went back to Gerald Bennett.
There's a contradiction
in the evidence, well -
Hey, Troy, take it slowly.
Yes, sir. Sorry.
The taxi driver's statement
in the missing person's file
says he collected Cynthia
from Inkpen Manor
and she only had a shoulder bag.
Yes.
Well, this morning,
Gerald Bennett told me
that when he and his daughter
looked the next day,
Cynthia's entire wardrobe had gone.
Well, you can't get an entire
wardrobe in a shoulder bag, can you?
No, you can't.
But I'm not sure how far this gets us
apropos Mr Widger.
Are you?
Well, no, sir, not exactly.
Well, you have until this afternoon
to find out.
I'd been expecting a visit
long before now.
Yes, I'm sorry sir.
We were rather overtaken by events.
Elspeth, you mean?
Well it seems to me, Mr Barnaby,
that ruling out suicide,
as one must -
Must one, Mr Deverell?
An Inkpen would no more do away with
themselves than would a Deverell.
So your view is that Elspeth
and Felicity were killed
for the same simple reason -
the Inkpens' desecration
of the memorial garden?
Are you giving the remaining two
protection?
Naomi and the young girl?
Violence begets violence, as I'm
sure you're professionally aware.
And if there is a lunatic at large,
well...
If there's a lunatic at large,
Mr Deverell, no-one is safe.
Ah. Not an apposite entrance,
I assure you.
Allow me to introduce my son,
Richard. Bishop Richard.
Though he rarely does me the honour
of dressing as such.
How do you do?
How do you do?
A chief inspector no less, Richard.
Investigating the demise
of the Inkpens.
Yes, I feel I should visit again.
Only having made an identical call
just yesterday...
..one feels entirely inadequate.
You knew Elspeth Inkpen well?
From childhood.
I find it impossible to believe
she could be murdered
over a few rose bushes
and a sundial.
You underestimate the good people
of Midsomer Deverell, Richard.
But then,
you underestimate everyone.
As a matter of routine, I'm obliged
to ask your whereabouts last night
approximately half an hour
either side of midnight?
Where I always am at that hour.
Here. In this chair.
You're just as pretty as any flower
in the garden, Hilary.
I don't know why
I've never told you before.
Even prettier now you're sad.
You just need someone
to help you unfold.
Blossom.
That neck...
..such a tender stalk.
No.
Why did you lie, Father?
To the police. You weren't here
at midnight last night.
Wasn't I?
You didn't get home till one.
Well, I'm an old man, Richard.
I'm allowed a lapse of memory.
Where had you been?
Visiting at Badger's drift.
Was it really
one o'clock? Well, well...
And where had you been,
if impertinent questions
are the order of the day?
I'd been taking the air.
For so long?
I've a lot to think about.
Alright, Mr Widger,
perhaps now you'd care to tell us
where you went last night?
I went to visit a friend.
At the other end of the village.
Charles King.
And he'll verify this, will he?
He'd damn well better,
we're in this together.
In what?
I went to warn him about you.
The police.
About your interest
in Cynthia Bennett.
Not that we did anything wrong.
Not to her. Not to anybody.
It's just that we didn't give
an entirely full account.
Well, we didn't give any account
at all, in fact. Five years ago.
Do you know something about the
disappearance of Cynthia Bennett?
No, no, nothing at all.
It was nothing to do with us.
Mr Widger. Please.
Cynthia was a very... friendly lady.
We'd had our ups and downs,
mostly over noise.
She liked a lot of noisy
modern music, did Cynthia.
But she certainly knew
how to get round a chap.
Especially in the last couple
of years they lived there.
She got a bit bored, you see.
Like I said, she was a...
..she was a very friendly lady.
She invited Charles and me
to meet her
at the Deverell Arms Hotel
in Causton.
She'd booked a room.
They don't take
a lot of notice there.
She arrived by taxi and we spent
the afternoon and evening together.
The three of you?
After dark we drove back
to Midsomer Deverell,
the three of us in Charles' car.
We dropped Cynthia off at the Manor
and then we went back to his place
for a nightcap.
Then I walked home.
The following day,
Cynthia was reported missing.
Charles and I came to the decision
that there was nothing to be gained
by coming forward.
I mean, what was the point
in clouding the issue
by publicising
our afternoon's entertainment?
Did it never occur to you, Mr King,
that your silence
prevented a proper search being
carried out for Mrs Bennett?
That assumptions were made
that wouldn't have been made
if you'd come forward?
Shh, shh. Please.
Wives do have ears you know. Even
if they have nothing between them.
It was sport, Sergeant. Pure sport.
Well, not entirely pure.
But nothing more, I assure you.
In fact, I experienced a deep sense
of loss when Cynthia vanished.
Rather like losing
a favourite golf club.
So, George?
Not pills, not booze. Not needles -
And no wound.
So now you're going to say
you can't tell me anything
until you get the toxicology
report done, right?
Au contraire.
Let me tell you,
don't believe this was suicide.
The lab found traces of olive oil
and herbs on the bedroom key.
Ah yes, pesto sauce.
There's lots of that in there.
To disguise the taste,
which is apparently foul.
The taste of what?
Did Mrs Inkpen-Thomas eat anything
when she was here, Mrs Millard?
No. No, she didn't. She wouldn't.
I did offer, of course.
But there was a dish.
A bowl, from the same set as that.
Was there? I didn't notice.
Look, please,
why are you dismantling my kitchen?
Mrs Millard.
Mrs Millard,
we are far from convinced
that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
killed herself.
She swallowed a toxic substance,
prepared in a kitchen
and then mixed with ordinary food.
No... Surely...
Not here, under my roof.
Is it possible she could've
filled the bowl herself?
From something she'd cooked here,
or something from your larder?
Well, possible,
while I was at church.
But I don't have a kitchen
full of poisons.
Was anyone else in the church?
What, at that time of night?
In this godless country of ours,
we have enough trouble filling
the pews on a Sunday morning.
Did you lock the vicarage doors,
Mrs Millard, when you went to church?
After Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
had gone upstairs?
No. I never lock the doors.
It's a point of Christian principle.
So it is possible
that someone who knew the house,
knew that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas
was here,
could have gained entry
while you were elsewhere?
Well, it's possible.
The dog. Wouldn't the dog
have reacted to an intruder?
Crispin has a very positive attitude
to all humanity.
And your husband, the Vicar. He's
been gone for - how long is it now?
Four days.
When d'you expect him back?
I don't know.
The day after tomorrow. Why?
What does he think of the Inkpens
and their commercial exploitation
of the village?
He looks for the best in everyone.
Even adulterers? Female adulterers?
Jezebels?
Oh, yes. He'd especially
try to help them.
And what is your view of such women,
Mrs Millard?
I firmly believe in the sanctity of
marriage and that adultery is a sin.
An old fashioned word that,
Mr Barnaby,
but perhaps the world
would be a better place
if more people were prepared
to fight sin
when and where they find it.
One can take appeasement
only so far.
Here you are.
Tom. You're home very early.
You've caught me digging up
rather too much of your lawn.
Yeah, I'm still working actually.
Do you have pictures in
those plant encyclopaedias of yours?
Yes. Why? What are you looking up?
A for aconite.
What do you think you're doing?
Mrs Inkpen.
Well?
I am conducting a murder
investigation, Mrs Inkpen.
That is what I am doing.
These plants. Have you picked
any of them recently?
Of course I haven't.
One doesn't need monkshood in the
house when one has plenty of roses.
Monkshood?
So you know the common name do you?
Then you'll also know these plants
are among the most toxic
that we grow in the country?
Your interest is professional?
No, no, it's practical.
So if you don't put them in the house
in vases, what do you do with them?
We leave them alone.
Well, you should know, Mr Bolt.
Being the gardener.
You eat the roots of this, Troy,
cooked or raw, and you're a goner.
And this was crudely done.
George Bullard could still see bits
in the stomach contents.
Someone's tried very hard
to make it look like a suicide,
but the bedroom key
has got food on it.
My scenario is that they
force-fed Elspeth with this stuff,
then put the key back in the lock
before they climbed out through the
window, leaving her to die horribly.
And she would have died horribly.
Aconite doesn't provide
a painless exit.
So we're looking for someone
who really, really hated her.
But who, Troy, who?
And will they kill again?
We need a breakthrough.
Allow me, sir.
See?
"This stone laid 18th June 1996
by Gerald Bennett."
Cynthia Bennett disappeared
on the 11th. Just a week before.
Sir, if you had been very
indiscreet,
if you regarded the woman you'd been
playing away with as a tart
and cared more for your social
standing than her life,
and had murdered her,
then what better place to bury her?
They're digging a hole.
Who are?
The police.
Forgive us our trespasses
as we forgive those
who trespass against us.
Forgive those sins
that destroy our peace on Earth.
Murder, adultery.
I'm so sorry to disturb you,
Mrs Millard.
Dad sent these for the church.
What are they looking for?
I really don't know.
But I don't want to watch.
I'm going for a walk.
Would you like to come?
But soon, eh?
Sir!
Cynthia.
Troy... Troy?
You can't know it's Cynthia.
We'll know by tomorrow, Mr Widger.
The skull has a full set of teeth.
So I'll tell you what I think.
I think that after five years
you've finally told the truth...
..but not the whole truth.
Yes, you and Charles King
brought Cynthia back to Inkpen Manor
but no, you didn't drop her off,
you dropped her in a hole.
You were scared
your afternoon's entertainment
wouldn't remain a secret,
Cynthia would blab.
And being pillars of the community,
you wouldn't want that.
So you killed her.
The police are pursuing
their enquiries with pick-axes.
I appreciate your coming, Richard.
One can only hope you don't
feel obliged to make a third visit.
It hardly seems appropriate
to mention it
but I shall be leaving
at the weekend.
My latest pilgrimage to Rome.
I wish you better fortune this time.
And I'm sure Elspeth
would have done the same.
I should like to think so.
What the hell
are you playing at, Troy?
Fronting up Widger, sir -
Yes, and?
Well, he denies murder of course
but there's still Charles.
There's still a next of kin
to be informed, Troy.
To make an identification, even.
I'm sorry, sir. I was out of order.
Procedurally.
Yeah, yeah.
I'm just wondering if we're not
out of order in a more dangerous way.
Have we missed
the blindingly obvious?
Which is?
Gerald Bennett.
Gerald Bennett? He couldn't
have whacked Fliss on the head
or climbed through
a casement window.
Granted. But he's not always been
as frail as he is today.
He is Cynthia's wronged husband
and if he did kill her no-one -
no-one - had a better opportunity
to bury her.
Jane?
Hi.
Sorry, darling. I needed a nap.
Cup of tea?
Oh, yes. Please.
I should go.
Goodbye, Hilary.
I hope we meet again.
Mr Bennett?
Sorry, you're dead.
And you.
And you were quite lovely,
such rare beauty.
Now you simply flowered yourself
to death, didn't you?
Such exuberance.
Ah, but little aquilegia.
Such...
..such sweet old-fashioned charm.
Just as beautiful
as your showy, glitzy sisters.
Nothing. No-one seems to have seen
her since yesterday evening.
It could have been King, sir,
the other party in the hotel room.
He would have had time
after I spoke to him.
No, Troy.
There's a daughter here who
loved her father very, very much.
A daughter whose face is everywhere.
A daughter who spoke passionately,
vehemently,
against digging up
the memorial garden.
Got to find Jane Bennett.
I thought you'd gone
to Rome without telling me.
Just Causton. To the bank.
There was a phone call.
Father, we need to talk
about money.
How do you rate your chances
this time, Richard?
Election to the sacred college?
Well, obviously I'm in the running
but it's a very long process.
Certain things still matter though.
Conduct. Behaviour.
Those found wanting
are going to be weeded out.
Do you know how much it would mean
to me for you to become a cardinal?
You, the last Deverell,
being the first ever in 500 years
to rise so high.
Father, it's not the be-all
and end-all.
Isn't it?
It's the only thing
I stay alive for.
Father, the bank.
Saw Hilary, did you? When you paid
your respects at the Manor?
Yes, I saw Hilary.
And what did you think?
How did she strike you?
I knew where she was going, you see.
And I had a good idea
who she was meeting.
It wasn't so much
that she was carrying on,
It was the fact that she and they,
and all the others before them,
took such pleasure
in Dad not realising.
The smirking and sniggering,
the making fun behind his back,
I just... couldn't take any more.
So I waited for her
to come back from Causton
and strangled her
with a pair of tights.
She was drunk,
and I'm... quite strong.
I'd already planned
what to do with her.
I rather liked the idea that when
the memorial garden was finished,
people would walk all over her
like she'd walked all over Dad.
So then I cleared her things
and hid them in my car
and took them to the dump next day.
I knew Widger and King wouldn't
come forward
when we reported her missing...
The downside was that Dad actually
did miss her.
His health was already
deteriorating anyway
and the manor just suddenly
seemed just too big.
The cottage was right for him,
though.
He's been happy there.
Until the Inkpens started
digging up the past?
If he'd discovered
what my mother was really like...
it would have broken his heart.
He didn't have
much time left, anyway.
Better to finish it gently
without the truth.
He was such an innocent.
I couldn't bear him to lose that
right at the end.
But it's still murder, Miss Bennett.
And you have to understand that,
given your very clear reason for not
wanting the memorial garden dug up,
you are now prime suspect
for the deaths of Felicity Inkpen
and her mother -
what I have done,
I have done for my father.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I hated my mother. Not the Inkpens.
Others hated them.
Don't build up your hopes.
Not while there are still
three of them left.
Merciless bloodsuckers...
Bloodsuckers.
That's an odd expression
in the context of what was going
on at Inkpen manor.
She could be winding us up, sir.
She was desperate
to stop the digging,
and murdering Inkpens
was a way of doing it.
Plus she's young and fit,
she knows the vicarage
and she knows about plants.
If it was just desperation Troy,
why kill Elspeth so, so horribly?
Why not just strangle her
or bash her over the head?
Elspeth suffered.
There was real hatred there.
Or stark raving madness.
Yeah possibly.
But hate, Troy,
or greed are more common.
Ah, this is from the solicitor.
Elspeth's will.
Ah, don't tell me. The Gardeners'
Benevolent Society?
There was no money
but the house is left jointly
to Hilary and Fliss..
..and Daniel Bolt, the gardener.
I do understand why you keep
shying away from me, Hilary.
I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking this man made love
to my sister and my mother
and now they're both dead.
But, if you're honest,
don't you agree
there's something about death
that makes you want
to reaffirm life?
You shouldn't deny that instinct.
Nature doesn't.
Nature does just what it likes.
Because nature knows
what's best.
Instinctively.
The lilium speciosum doesn't mourn.
It just turns
its delicate neck to the sun.
Actually I was looking
for your father, sir.
Is he at home?
No.
No he isn't but do come in. Please.
Do you know who I am?
Mr Richard Deverell,
uh, Bishop Richard Deverell.
I have only just found out who I am.
I am... was
the lover of Elspeth Inkpen.
No. I knew that, of course.
I am the father
of her illegitimate child.
I did not know that.
Hilary Inkpen is my daughter.
And my father,
my damnable father has...
Where is Mr Deverell, please?
Gone to see her.
Naomi Inkpen.
To deliver his latest tribute.
She must have cash, it seems.
She must have real money
in her hands
and it must be placed there by him.
The price is humiliation
as well as money...
The price of what?
Her forbearance.
Until I am elected Cardinal.
Rome? The Vatican?
You know my father funded
the Inkpens' repurchase of their
"rightful family home".
It may seem a small enough
indiscretion in the modern world
to have fathered a child,
but my father is convinced otherwise
and convinced that the Vatican
would share his view.
He's right.
And he is desperate that I should
succeed this time.
If you need proof,
read the letter.
"My dear Augustus,
an ecclesiastical bird has told me
that Richard, your Richard,
has high hopes of at last
fulfilling the Deverell dream.
We Inkpens will hear nothing
said against him.
Provided of course, that you honour
your obligations to your friends.
In which respect with the recent
arrival of Hilary in our midst,
we are now in possession of what
might be described
as the walking DNA proof.
Yours in anticipation."
Mr Bolt.
Mr Bolt?
Sir?
Troy.
Augustus Deverell is heading
for Inkpen manor.
Stop him.
Don't let him get near to Naomi.
I'll be with you in a few minutes.
Excuse me!
Not now, Mr Widger.
I've been burgled!
Not interested.
You damn well will be.
Augustus.
Such old-world punctuality.
Mrs Inkpen?
Mrs Inkpen...?
She's not in the garden.
All right, Gran?
Smell the blood?
You like the blood, don't you?
A bit of "DNA proof",
as it says in the letter?
And I was stupid enough to think
I was wanted here.
Not loved, I never hoped for that,
not from you anyway...
But I wasn't even wanted,
was I? Was I?
Not even by Mum.
Not wanted for myself. Just used...
Just turned to advantage.
Yes, look away.
What did the three of you do?
Get it out and gloat over it
once a week?
Why else keep a copy in the house?
Fliss laughed so much
when she told me,
when she read that out.
Fliss was a stupid little bitch.
Dead little bitch now.
She opened my eyes
so I opened her head.
But she's the only one of you
I've killed in anger.
I took pleasure over Mum.
I stuffed her bloody garden
right down her throat.
And I'm going to make a mess of you.
Because you don't like mess.
Everything must be just so,
mustn't it.
On the outside.
Well I don't want you going to hell
looking tidy!
Mrs Millard?
Sergeant Troy.
Chief inspector Barnaby just thought
we ought to let you know
we shan't be needing your
kitchen utensils any more.
Poor Hilary...
Yes.
And poor Jane Bennett.
It's most troubling
to one's conscience
that some crimes
seem entirely justified.
Jane's is one of them.
I've always felt,
as I told Mr Barnaby,
that adultery is one of the most
despicable of all human activities.
Nice patio. New?
Very. I find hard work
an aid to prayer
and there has been so much
to pray about recently.
And, uh, still no vicar?
Good evening.
Arthur, this is Sergeant Troy.
How do you do.
Hello.
Would you care to join us for tea
and an ecumenical debrief?
Uh, no. Thank you.
It's a relief, I mean,
a pleasure to meet you, Vicar.
I'd best be off.
Bye, Crispin.
And as well as the White Bedder,
I've brought you a few
Pennington gems...
Oh, that's very kind of you, Daniel.
Bear in mind the White Bedder
is vigorous and very erect,
so make sure you put it
where you want it,
otherwise it's likely to, um,
overshadow lesser plants.
Yes, I see.
I'd be quite happy to come back and
make sure everything's nicely...
..bedded in?
Ah, Mr Barnaby.
Right, well uh, I'll be off then.
I was going to offer him a drink.
I think he had some propagating
to do elsewhere.
Come on, I'll make you one.
Is there any lawn left to sit on?