Midsomer Murders (1997–…): Season 8, Episode 4 - Bantling Boy - full transcript
A four-member syndicate owns a racehorse that two of them are desperate to sell and two of them are determined to keep. When one of them is murdered, Barnaby is on the case.
METAL BANGING
Unhand the maid! Or perish!
Never!
I'll unhorse you here.
HAMMERING
MAN SHOUTS, WOMAN SCREAMS
How is he, Foley?
Ready to run for his life, boss.
Good, cos I'm putting a real jockey
up on him for tomorrow's race.
A top rider, from Newmarket.
You can't do this. He needs a rider
with a bit of class, don't you?
The race is mine. You owe me.
I owe you nothing.
HORSE WHINNIES
HISSING
Bantling Boy is eating up
the ground. Pulling double.
Jake's done wonders with him.
I'm the damn trainer, Marianna.
How many years
since your last winner?
He'll win the cup.
Then maybe you can find it within
yourself to give me some credit.
Car theft, Scott. Our superintendent
is hoping for something better.
Me too, sir.
That's a nice outfit, sir.
Mrs Barnaby choose it for you?
Yes, she did. I'm off to
the charity event at Causton Races.
Gonna have yourself a flutter?
No. It's a mug's game.
I don't know. I enjoy a punt
on the horses, studying form.
Well, plenty of form there
for you to study, Scott. Enjoy.
Go on. Get your glad rags on.
We'll make a day of it.
Sam, I've told you,
I'm already committed.
CAR HORN
They're here!
(LAUGHS)
Sir Peter! Have at you!
Die, varlet! Surrender, saucy knave!
Die!
Put that back immediately, Geoffrey.
Sorry, Angela. Sorry.
HORN
Morning, Lady Hartley. Come on, Jo.
I've got a horse to shoe.
Peter.
Come here.
Thanks for having him.
Now, you be good.
He always is.
Is she coming?
Yes, she's still on the phone.
Oh!
It's work, Tom. She's up for a part.
We'll miss the first race. Ah!
I have an audition.
That's great, Cully. What is it?
To play Hero.
Shouldn't that be heroine?
No, Dad. Hero's a woman.
Shakespeare. Much Ado About Nothing.
Let's hope this time it isn't.
DISTANT RACE COMMENTARY
CHEERING
The next race is the Causton Gold
Cup, sponsored by Tate's Bread.
Local hopeful Bantling Boy is owned
by a syndicate of Midsomer villagers
and is trained by Bruce Hartley.
He's been working terribly hard
and he's come on tremendously well.
We've got the right man
on top of it today as well.
He's a very genuine animal.
More than can be said for you.
"That brings us to our next race,
the Causton Gold Cup."
"Five runners in what promises
to be a very competitive race."
500 to win, Bantling Boy.
Ticket, 74. Thank you, guvnor.
Steady.
I know my job, Mr Hartley.
You must be gutted.
I could gut Bruce Hartley, for sure.
Been going since I retired
the Horse Guards.
Wife thinks I'm mad,
but is the world any saner, Barnaby?
How many rescue horses
at Fallowfields now?
Too many. Those horses
have rescued me often enough.
Hauling artillery
over the Italian mountains in '45.
Splendid creatures.
Yes, indeed they are.
Dad. Oh, hello, Major. Can I borrow
your wallet for a second?
Why?
We're gonna put a bet on.
Smile like a sunburst,
that girl of yours.
Hasn't changed
since her pony-club days.
"Jockeys mounting up now..."
Can I have ã50 to win on Hawksbill?
3:30 at the Causton Cup. Thank you.
You've done your money there,
squire. Bantling Boy will romp home.
It'll win me plenty.
Got the mortgage on him?
I own a leg of it.
(COUGHS) That horse could win
pulling a milk float.
BICYCLE BELL
"Here comes Simon Winter on Bantling
Boy, just cantering up the post."
"Just the five runners, then,
for this afternoon's big race."
"In goes Bantling Boy."
"With Indian Tonic on the rails
and Carmelite moving well behind her,
it's Hawksbill moving along."
What's he holding them up for?
Come on,
give him a bit of stick there.
What's he doing?
Come on!
Come on, Bantling Boy.
Come on!
Is that the one you backed?
Yes, he's local. Midsomer-trained.
Come on, Bantling Boy.
Come on!
SHOUTING
"Bantling Boy a length and a half
behind in second place."
CHANTING
I told him to drop him out.
No, he needs to pick up the pace.
Come on, Bantling Boy!
"Sir Richard out and committed
in front of Hawksbill."
"But here comes Bantling Boy,
moving strongly."
Come on, Bantling Boy!
Come on, Bantling Boy!
How much did you put on?
I put ã30 to win.
30...?
Come on, Bantling Boy! Come on!
Come on, Bantling Boy!
"Bantling Boy, three furlongs to go."
Come on, Hawksbill.
Come on!
SHOUTING
Come on, yeah, he's going.
Whip him on, my son.
SHOUTING
Go! Go! Go!
"Neck-and-neck in the final furlong."
Get up there.
"Bantling Boy has a nose in front."
Come on!
SHOUTING
Push him on! Push him on!
CHEERING
Wey!
BICYCLE BELL
Bantling Boy won.
Bantling Boy won.
Sam Tate. Interested in selling him?
Well...
I'll give you 500,000.
Pounds?
Guineas if you like.
Keep away from my owners.
I'll talk to who I like.
He's not for sale. Get away.
Don't push me!
I'll see you finished. He'll be
the last horse you ever train.
ã30 at 3-1. That's ã90 profit.
Dinner at the Bon Chance restaurant,
bottle of Beau, steak a point.
No, this money's going to charity.
To Fallowfields.
Spend our winnings
saving some nag from the glue pot?
Yes.
Well, what a waste.
Fish and chips?
I will not sell. That's final.
Half a million quid.
That's 125 grand a piece.
He'll be worth even more next year.
If he breaks his leg tomorrow,
he'll be dog food.
The money would be very useful.
My father left us Bantling Boy
as reward for our loyalty.
I demand the same loyalty from you.
Don't dress it up, Bruce. We all
know why he left the horse to you.
This is nothing to do with you!
(SHE CRIES)
The terms of the syndicate require
a unanimous decision.
Dr Osgood?
Are you LOYAL to Bruce on this?
Yes. I'm with Bruce on this.
I say we sell. I need the money.
Me an' all.
We'll get ourselves a lawyer.
You want to break up the syndicate?
You want the truth to come out?
Hmm? Cos it will.
Bantling Boy will be sold
over my dead body!
Then get into bed with Sam Tate.
You can give him what he wants.
Why the hell should I?
How dare you?
Bite his hand off, Mother. Before
you're past your sell-by date.
You and that halfwit brother
of yours.
Don't cry.
Why now?
Because Bruce said he would tell,
he said he'd tell everybody.
I can't believe this.
They knew. All of them knew.
Well, damn the lot of them,
and damn you!
Ray!
(SHE CRIES)
METAL BANGING
SHOUTING
I know. I know, it has to stop.
No. No, don't come round.
Please, John. John!
J-
Come on.
Boy.
WHINNIES
Marianna!
In here.
Stay back, Ray. He... He's dead.
What happened?
I don't know. I found him.
Jake's disappeared.
We need the police.
Don't touch anything.
Marianna, come away.
I doubt it was a kick.
Blunt, heavy weapon, I suspect.
The horse could've stood
in the pooling blood.
Or the hoof was smeared
to make it appear accidental?
Possibly.
Thanks for your help.
Er, Mr Craxton, when did you last see
Bruce Hartley alive?
About eightish last night. Drunk as
a hand cart, shouting his head off.
Bruce was a pain in the ear
with everybody.
Including you?
I left here about 8:00.
By 9:00 he was having a blazing
argument with the syndicate.
What syndicate?
Bruce Hartley owned Bantling Boy
with Dr Osgood, Trevor Machin
and Joanna, my wife.
Look, I had nothing to do
with any of that.
I've got a horse to shoe.
Of course you have.
Er... Jake Foley, stable lad.
Where can we find him?
Dunno. Seems he went last night.
And we'll need this hammer, please.
For Forensics. Yes, George?
Thank you.
Why?
Just routine, Mr Craxton.
Thank you.
Don't play Little Miss Innocent
with me.
You brought nothing
into this marriage.
How dare you?
Osgood? Or the two of you together?
Leave, Angela! Now!
Um... DCI Barnaby. This is DS Scott.
Sorry.
My mother-in-law.
Mrs Hartley?
Do you feel able to answer
a few questions, please?
If I can be of any help.
Jake Foley,
I understand he's missing.
Yes.
Jake was the real horseman here.
He should have been
on Bantling Boy yesterday
but Bruce took the ride from him.
Oh, how did Jake take that?
He put up with it.
He put up with it?
We all put up with Bruce...
His drinking, his violent temper.
Was your husband violent last night,
Mrs Hartley? Towards you?
We did argue. I...
I fell. Sprained my wrist.
What did you argue about?
It was personal.
OK.
One more question. Were you alone
here last night with your husband?
Yes.
A very angry woman
swinging a heavy weapon
might just do
that kind of damage to herself.
You mean the sprained wrist?
Very neatly bandaged, isn't it?
Scott, the people in this syndicate
that own Bantling Boy...
I met one of them yesterday, sir.
Trevor Machin. Lives in a
wheelchair. Breath like a badger.
You can start with Trevor Machin.
Where exactly did you meet him?
At the Hammer and Pennant.
The Hammer and Pennant, Scott?
I thought you were supposed
to be investigating car thefts.
I noticed that most of the car
thefts took place in pub car parks.
I did a sort of tour.
A forensic pub crawl, was it?
Public-house-to-house enquiries,
sir.
I'm off to Bantling Hall. Put out
a call for this Jake Foley. Yes, sir.
Yes!
A hit! Come on. Bull's-eye next.
Go for gold, yes?
Shoot it again.
I can do it myself.
Going to help.
No, you can't.
Excuse me. Detective Chief Inspector
Barnaby, Causton CID.
Come inside, will you?
Shoot.
No, get off.
Stupid!
You made me miss. Go and fetch.
Cecil Hartley, 3rd Baron Bantling.
Famous Catholic.
Involved in the Gunpowder Plot.
George, 4th Baron Bantling.
Betrayed the king at Marston Moor.
Thomas Bantling. Fought
in the American War of Independence.
For the Americans. More bloodshed
and treachery in the Bantling family
than all Shakespeare's plays
put together.
Shut the door, will you?
You may as well know
my relationship with my son
had been in low water for some time.
Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.
Was there a particular reason?
When my husband died last year,
he left me nothing but debts.
I WAS lady of the manor.
I'm now maid of all work.
I cook, clean,
do accounts for tradesmen
to keep body and soul together.
And your son was unsympathetic?
There was a profound shallowness
about my son,
a childlike selfishness
which he inherited from his father.
What about his wife, Marianna?
The girl lacked background.
My son made a bad marriage.
Have you lived alone
since your husband's death?
I live with my brother Geoffrey,
a full-time occupation himself.
The body of a man,
the mind of a child.
Men who remain children
seem to run in my family.
This horse, Bantling Boy,
your husband left it to a syndicate,
didn't he? Why did he do that?
Bruce and my husband wasted
a fortune on useless horses.
Bantling Boy
was a home-bred yearling
when he willed it to the syndicate.
Now it's worth thousands.
Just another of life's ironies.
I understand
there was some sort of argument
at the meeting of the syndicate
last night.
They had an offer for the horse.
Bruce refused to sell.
His death will make the rest of them
considerably richer. How?
If a member dies, their share passes
to the remaining members. I see.
All of which is cold comfort to me.
I shall have to sell Bantling Hall
to settle my husband's debts.
It's been in the family 500 years.
Devastating loss.
More devastating
than the loss of your son?
Frankly, Inspector, yes.
Mr Machin, I'd like to know where
you were last night about 10:00.
Whoa! I'm stuck in this wheelchair.
I couldn't kill him
no matter how much I wanted to.
This horse of yours, Bantling Boy.
How did you get a share in it?
30 years a gardener at the hall.
It broke my back. Colonel Hartley
left it me as a reward.
But you're chasing shadows
if you think the horse is behind it.
No, this is family matters.
In what way?
Have you met Hartley's wife?
Marianna.
Her with the swimming-pool eyes.
Right, talk to Dr Osgood.
Him and Hartley are like that.
But behind Hartley's back, Osgood
and Marianna are like that, an' all.
They're having an affair?
Bit of one with the other, yeah.
I saw Osgood driving to the stables
last night like a bat out of hell.
What time was this?
About 10:00.
Thank you, that's very useful.
See yourself out, can you?
Yeah.
Ginseng and dandelion.
Sharpens the mind.
Thank you. I understand, Dr Osgood,
you and Bruce Hartley were friends.
Grew up in the village. Climbed the
same trees. Chased the same girls.
Very good friends, then.
So Bruce Hartley left you
the share in Bantling Boy?
No, his father bequeathed it to me.
I became his doctor
in his final years.
Dead long before they buried him,
poor chap. Cancer.
When did you last see Bruce Hartley?
At Causton Races.
French-kissing a bottle of
champagne. Chateau'd, I'm afraid.
Would you say he's got a problem
with drink?
Bruce was a functioning alcoholic,
sergeant, like his father.
Causton Races, you say.
You're not being entirely honest
with us, are you, Dr Osgood?
We know that you saw him
up at the hall last night.
You've heard about that?
Oh, yes, indeed.
We also have a witness who saw you
driving towards the stables at 10:00
last night.
I'm assuming it was you
who bandaged Marianna's wrist.
Is she a patient of yours?
Yes, Marianna called me.
Bruce had assaulted her. Again.
Just a house call, was it, Doctor?
OK.
Marianna and I are involved
but Bruce knew nothing.
I love Marianna
and I begged her to leave him.
How did you feel knowing
that your good friend had assaulted
the woman you love?
Did you confront him?
Teach him a lesson?
He'd cleared off, Inspector.
I assumed he'd gone to the pub.
How do you like him for it, sir?
Love ripens into vengeance?
Crime of passion?
Possibly.
What about this syndicate,
this strange collection of locals
who own Bantling Boy?
Trevor Machin was the Colonel's
gardener. Osgood was his doctor.
Why leave Joanna Craxton
a leg of the horse?
Pass.
Right, lunch. Then we'll find out.
He's off his food, Ray.
Hasn't touched an oat.
The vet scoped him. Blood test.
Something or somebody's got to him.
Somebody?
He's worth good money now. There's
nothing in the way of security here.
Maybe we should move him.
Where?
I don't know. Anywhere but here.
I'd like to be a million miles
away myself.
Yeah, me too.
I'm only going as far as the forge,
so call me if you need me.
DOGS BARK
My uncle was a bookmaker.
Was he?
Yeah.
In the blood, then, is it?
Used to carry the satchel for him at
Kempton Park, do the old tick-tack.
130, Burlington Bertie, all that.
What a sheltered life I've led.
I'm sure you've had your moments.
Not at Kempton Park, I haven't.
Mr Craxton.
Just a minute.
Mr Craxton, we are here
to see your wife. Is she in?
She's in the back garden.
Is this you, sir?
Yeah, we have medieval tournaments
over at Bantling Hall every year
for charity.
Is that your son?
Yeah. He loves all that malarkey.
Mad over it. This way.
Put a nasty dent in your skull.
WMD, Scott.
Weapons of medieval destruction.
Mrs Craxton, I understand that you're
one of the owners of Bantling Boy.
Yes.
I'm a visiting nurse. I looked after
Lord Bantling during his illness.
And he left me a share in the horse.
We're establishing the whereabouts of
people around about 10:00 last night.
Well, I was here with Peter.
Were you all together all the time?
No, Ray had gone for a walk.
A walk?
Tell them. Tell them what you like.
He just wanted
to get out for some air.
You know,
he wanted to be on his own.
Can I take it your husband
is not entirely happy
about your involvement
with Bantling Boy?
You'll have to ask him
about that yourself. Excuse me.
Hiya.
What's that game you're playing?
Secret Of The Ring.
Want a go?
Yes. Yes, please.
Here. Hold this.
MOBILE PHONE
OK. Now, wait.
Steady.
Hello?
When I tell you, fire!
Yes, you got him.
Is killing people
your idea of fun, young man?
It's only a game.
Er, sir, we've got a treble 9 call
from Lodge Stables.
Marianna Hartley.
I think we should get down there.
If all the killing in the world
was only a game,
nobody would ever be hurt,
would they?
No, that is true. Very true.
Out of the mouths of babes...
ELECTRONIC CHUCKLE
Somebody's prowling round.
I've seen them twice now.
Bantling Boy's ailing.
I'm worried he's been got at.
Got at?
I don't like saying this, but Foley
was in trouble a few years ago.
A doping scandal. Race-fixing.
Was he prosecuted?
Nothing was proved, but mud sticks.
He had trouble getting rides.
That's why he came to us.
I presume if Bantling Boy is a sick
horse, that could reduce his value.
Oh, yes, the vet's been up. It'll be
all round the county by now.
Sam Tate wants to buy the horse. He
could save himself a lot of money.
Yes. You don't think
Sam Tate's behind this, do you?
We've spoken with Dr Osgood,
Mrs Hartley,
and you haven't
been entirely frank with us
about your relationship with him.
No.
Sorry.
Last night, after Bruce hit me,
he stormed off.
I called John.
He came up here but he left.
He has nothing to do
with Bruce's death.
And what about you?
Were you angry with your husband
that he'd attacked you?
Did you go looking for him?
Find him in here then...
No!
I married a vulgar bully and, yes,
I've wished him dead often enough.
But I didn't kill him.
Right now the most important thing
is to increase your security.
Whoever killed your husband may have
been trying to steal Bantling Boy
when he disturbed them.
I said to Ray to move him
somewhere safer.
That would be a good idea.
In the meantime, Sergeant Scott
can stay with him.
He's very good with horses.
He spent many happy days with them.
Yes, sir. I'm not sure I fancy
spending the night with one.
Cully.
Cully.
How'd it go?
I was wrong for the part.
Again.
It'll come.
Will it?
I feel so useless, just sitting
around waiting for my agent to ring.
I'm not making any money.
Just frittering away my life,
you know?
I'm...sorry.
Hey, do you remember
the Fallowfields?
Yeah, why?
Got to drop this off up there.
Why don't you come along with me?
Take you out of yourself.
It's all right, you don't have to.
I'm just a misery right now.
Come on, you know what they say.
Misery needs company. Come on.
ã90?
Yes, ã90.
Mrs Barnaby won that on Bantling Boy
and she insisted that you have it.
Splendid.
Need every bit of help we can get.
I wonder, Major,
if you could help us out here.
We think that Bantling Boy
has been got at
and/or someone
is trying to steal him.
He needs stabling. Somewhere
out of the way, somewhere safe.
This is the back of beyond.
Get nobody out here
except the odd birdwatcher.
And the occasional rambler
bimbling about.
Be safe enough here.
So, you think you can manage
Bantling Boy?
Well, George,
my head man's just retired.
92.
Lovable old biscuit.
Complete horse nut, like myself.
Point being, it's left us a bit thin
in the ranks.
Well,
perhaps Cully could help you out
while you've got some time
on your hands.
I wondered
why you dragged me up here.
Doesn't pay much, I'm afraid.
Just three square meals and BFH.
Bus fares home. Is that agreeable?
Sounds great.
Until I get a better offer.
CAT MIAOWS, DOGS BARK
RAT SQUEAKS
SQUEAKS
HORSE SNORTS
Police, stay where you are.
Why did you go on the run, Mr Foley?
The only running I did was
to catch the last bus to Causton.
Bruce fired me,
told me to clear out.
Why?
From what I hear, the success
of Bantling Boy was down to you.
Why?
Bruce was a wannabe jockey
but a few sizes too large.
That's why he jocked me off.
Jealousy.
That made you bitter.
Course it did.
Why did you go back to the stables
last night, Jake?
I heard they called a vet out
to Bantling Boy.
Someone got to him. Was it you?
I've raised that horse
since a yearling. He's not sick.
He's pining.
For you?
There's a bond between a horse
and his minder that goes deep.
Your four-legged friend, is he?
Of course, you've doped your friends
in the past, haven't you?
Fixed the odd race.
That was malicious.
I was never charged with anything.
I have to ask you this, Mr Foley.
Did you kill Bruce Hartley?
No!
You wanna know who I think did it?
Sam Tate.
Tate's Bread.
Why him?
Him and Bruce had a right set-to
after the race.
If anyone's gonna be dancing on
Hartley's grave, it'll be Sam Tate.
With Bruce gone,
that just leaves the doctor.
So don't disappoint me.
The police.
I don't want to be seen here.
I don't want them in our business.
No, just keep out of sight.
If I'm on your list,
you can cross me off right now.
Mr Tate, you had a bit of a run-in
at the racecourse the other day.
He made a backside of himself,
if that's what you mean.
I offered to buy Bantling Boy
and what I want I usually get.
Mr Tate, have you
or any of your acquaintances
been near Bantling Boy
since the race?
No, nowhere near.
Do you live here alone, Mr Tate?
Yes, divorced two years ago.
Happily unmarried ever since.
Heard of Tate's Oven-Ready Bread?
Oh, indeed I have.
♪ The crust you can trust ♪
That's the one. It's disgusting
but people buy it cos it saves time.
And time is money. I've got a board
meeting in an hour, Inspector.
Bye.
Thank you, Mr Tate, very much...
For your valuable time.
Bye.
Scott?
Can you run a car check on that?
Yes, sir.
Certainly.
Sarge, it's DS Scott here.
Run a vehicle check
on a registration for me, please.
Kilo 153 Echo Yankie Mike.
No, I'll wait for it.
Thank you.
What do you make of Sam Tate? They
reckon he started as a delivery boy.
Yeah, and I don't suppose he got rich
keeping on the right side of the law.
Yeah? Thank you.
Cheers. Thanks very much.
It's Joanna Craxton's, sir.
What's she doing up here?
I suspect she's come to see a man
about a horse.
Bruce Hartley
as Richard the Lionheart.
Cor! He were the biggest chicken
I ever met.
Are we going to meet here?
Peter's indoors.
I don't want him
hearing our business.
Sam Tate wants an answer
by tomorrow night.
We sell. Me and Joanna's agreed.
What's your vote?
I think Marianna, as Bruce's wife,
should have a say in this.
That's not the syndicate rules,
Doctor. We own Bruce's share.
Morally, Marianna has a right.
Morally?
You still knocking a slice off her?
Trevor!
You'll be laughing all the way
to Bruce's funeral, that's for sure.
That settles it.
The horse is not for sale.
Goodbye.
He don't care, do he? Bloody toff!
DOOR SLAMS
We've got another problem.
Bantling Boy is ailing. He's been
shipped up to Fallowfields.
Who'll pay for that? I'm skint.
It's a charity, Trevor, but if word
gets out, his price will drop.
Oh, damn Osgood.
We got to sell that horse
before it drops dead in its stall.
Keep coming. Keep coming.
That's it.
Back you come. Come on. Slowly.
Come on. Come on. Keep coming.
Keep coming. Whoa! That's it.
This takes me back to the pony-club
trials. Remember the Causton Show?
Five-foot wall.
You were an old worry-guts.
You were lucky to get away
with just a broken arm. Grab that.
Greenstick fracture, wasn't it?
At least you got a lot of exercise
out of it.
These days, kids seem stuck
in front of computers all the time.
OK. Playing games, the entire purpose
of which is to kill people.
The Craxton boy
is obsessed with them.
He's nine years old, right?
Nine years old.
We never let you
play games like that, did we?
I hated computers.
Films were my thing.
Having said that, at nine,
my favourite film was Terminator.
Was it?
Fascination with gruesome deaths
does run in the family.
You think so?
Thanks, Dad. I'm gonna go. I've got
to pick up Bantling Boy at 3:00.
Thank you, Cully. Thank you. Hey!
The phone ringing?
No. I think my agent died.
I need to see him.
Keep away from that horse.
He's pining. That's what's wrong.
I'll call the police.
Calm down!
Get out of my way.
Clear off, Jake. You heard her.
If anything happens
to Bantling Boy...
Why have the police let him go?
They haven't got anything on him.
I think he did it, Ray.
He hated Bruce.
We all hated Bruce.
For the way he treated the horses.
The way he treated you
made my blood boil.
HORN
I'll fetch Bantling Boy.
Think of it
as a marriage of convenience.
Angela Hartley
nee Bantling of Bantling Hall
and Sam Tate
of Roughley Road, Barnsley.
Made in heaven.
Sam, please!
This place will be sold off,
developed, maybe even bulldozed.
Is that what you want
for you and Geoffrey?
Not now, Geoffrey, please.
We have business to discuss.
Well, he's settled in
but still not feeding.
Jake Foley reckons
he's pining for him.
Is it possible?
Yes. Could be.
The Major mentioned
he'd lost his head man.
Do you think he'd take on Jake Foley?
He's very experienced.
Is there a risk? Do you suspect him?
No, I don't. I suspect
he's genuinely fond of this horse.
Pining for Jake, are you, boy?
You know who killed him, don't you?
Eh?
Don't! No! Leave me alone!
All right. It's not going to hurt.
I don't want him touching me. Go!
Any vomiting?
No, but he's been having nightmares.
And cold sweats.
Joanna's out on call, is she?
Yes.
You did right to call me. It's
always better to be safe than sorry.
CLOCK TICKS
Blow to the skull,
exactly as with Bruce Hartley.
This was found tied round
the victim's mouth like a gag.
Was that applied before or after
the blow to the head?
Can't be sure. The head blow killed
him. The skull's very crushed.
Anything back from Forensics
on Craxton's hammer?
I'll chase it up.
Thanks, George.
Bruce Hartley, John Osgood both
opposed the sale of Bantling Boy.
Yeah.
Trevor and Joanna are free
to sell the horse, yeah?
Yeah, and Sam Tate,
who always gets what he wants,
now has a clear way to buy it.
I'd say that makes them joint
favourites. Would you?
Dr Osgood is dead.
Death's the cost of living
for all of us, ain't it?
There'll be no more problems
cos me and Joanna will sell.
I'm not sure I can trust you,
Trevor.
You've been keeping things
from me, haven't you?
Bantling Boy's a sick horse.
It's not you's been getting at him?
Shipped up to Fallowfields. Most
horses come out of there feet first.
Are you buying, or not?
250,000.
That's half of what you said.
You're no worse off.
Your stake's doubled
now Osgood and Hartley are out.
This isn't sweetie money
we're talking about.
Two of the owners of this horse
have come to a sticky end, Trevor.
We don't want you
suffering the same fate.
Are you threatening me?
Just making a once-and-only offer.
Phone me, Trevor.
It seems, Scott, that our Dr Osgood
paid a visit to the Craxtons
yesterday.
What time?
Why do doctors write in Sanskrit?
Can you make head or tail of that?
No.
It means they might've been
the last ones to see him alive.
Let's give the Craxtons a house call
of our own, shall we?
It was Ray who called the doctor.
Peter was having nightmares.
I was out visiting a patient.
The name of this patient?
Dickinson.
But she's got Alzheimer's.
But she can't remember
which way is up.
And the night
that Bruce Hartley died,
you say you were at home here on your
own, your husband gone for a walk.
With Peter. Are you implying I had
something to do with these murders?
Well, the two people who refused
to sell Bantling Boy are now dead.
And you are much the richer
for it, aren't you?
It's not my doing.
None of it.
Oh! Who have we here?
I'm Sir Peter Bantling.
Are you?
Rehearsals for the tournament.
We're due up at the hall.
I hear, Peter,
you've been having nightmares.
It could be The Secret Of The Ring.
Computer games give me nightmares.
With The Secret Of The Ring,
I'm never scared. Never, ever.
Look, I'm late, Inspector.
Ray's up there waiting.
Peter, get in the car.
Bye.
Bye, Sir Peter.
He's a fine little lad. Has he always
been troubled with nightmares?
No more than most.
It's a troubled world, isn't it?
Indeed it is.
Trevor, what is this proposition?
Sam Tate has cut his offer to 250.
So?
Persuade him to up his bid
and I'll give you
20 per cent of every penny more
you can get out of him.
Why do you think I have influence?
You got him round your little
finger. He's a ladies' man.
What about Joanna?
She ain't got your class, has she?
Tell Tate I will not sell,
not for 250 grand. Never.
You may regret saying that.
Well, I'll take my chance.
Thanks for the veg.
Can we have the yeomen, the bowmen
and the camp followers
into the jousting field NOW?
HORSE NEIGHS
Mr Craxton, a couple of questions,
please.
What? In the middle of all this?
I'm in the middle of
a murder enquiry,
and I believe you were the last
person to see Dr John Osgood alive.
When he left mine,
that was the last I saw of him.
Excuse me.
I'm in the middle of a battle.
(INDISTINCT ARGUMENT)
You bought yourself a horse yet,
Mr Tate?
No, but I'm working on it.
TREVOR: He can stuff his offer!
I wish you'd leave Sam to me,
Trevor.
Put my trust in pillow talk? No.
Peter, would you take Mr Machin
his drink, please?
No!
You, young man, will do as I say.
(YELLS)
Little monkey!
Make ready.
Approach.
SCOTT: What's she doing, sir?
She's giving her favour
to her chosen knight.
Making him the favourite,
is that it?
That's where the phrase comes from.
Let battle commence.
DRUM ROLL
HORSES NEIGH
Vicar!
Give mercy.
(GROANS)
Ray and Joanna Craxton
are a double act, sir.
They'll share the money from
the horse sale. That's the motive.
Machin also stands to gain from that,
if money IS the motive
behind all of this.
If it's not money, sir, what is it?
The boy. Peter. He's clearly upset.
Having nightmares.
You should have seen him running
at Trevor Machin with his sword.
I'm not with you on this, sir.
Scott, there's something between
his mother and Trevor Machin...
makes the boy very angry.
Machin's got a hold over her?
Could be.
He was certainly keen to finger
Dr Osgood when I spoke to him.
Tom, I thought you'd want to see
this straight away.
Just back from Forensics.
No prints, I'm afraid,
but it's a pretty close fit
with the head wounds on
Hartley and Dr Osgood.
Definitely the type of weapon
you're looking for.
Ray Craxton's spent a lifetime
swinging hammers like that, sir,
with deadly accuracy.
But everybody knows that, Scott.
The killer could be using that fact.
CLASHING SWORDS
METAL CLANGS
CREAKING
The same hammer blow.
Exactly the same weapon profile,
Tom. Skull crushed and this again.
Why would you do this?
It's a statement.
They're being killed.
Then they're gagged.
They're being ritualistically
silenced.
Would make sense of it.
But silenced about what?
And by whom?
SAM: Inspector Barnaby's car,
isn't it?
I'd better go.
Take care.
Yeah, I was on my own. Working here
till ten on them shields.
When did you last see Trevor Machin,
Ray?
What's going on?
Trevor Machin was murdered
last night.
Oh, my God!
You think I killed him. And
Dr Osgood and Bruce Hartley. Right?
Can we continue this conversation
at the station, Mr Craxton?
Ray.
He wouldn't harm a fly,
let alone kill anybody.
Just his hobby, is it?
Malleting people. Excuse me.
I liked none of them, no.
Nevertheless, your wife now owns
outright a horse worth
half a million pounds.
Everybody in Midsomer's made money
out of that horse. Even the vicar.
Look, it caused me and Joanna
nothing but arguments.
I killed nobody.
Why are you picking on me?
Because you don't have an alibi
for the times of the murders.
What about Sam Tate and that cow
Angela Hartley?
You haven't pulled them in.
Come on. We've questioned everyone
alike, no matter who they are.
You're not going to get the right
answer questioning the wrong man.
I didn't do it.
The police think that Ray
killed all three of them.
Well, they're wrong, aren't they?
What if Ray starts talking...
about the syndicate?
He knows everything, Angela.
All of it.
Me...
You.
How does he know?
Did you tell him?
I had to!
Bruce threatened to tell everybody.
I wanted Ray to hear it from me.
Stay calm, Joanna.
We don't need to panic.
I can look after Peter
as long as you like.
We're in this together.
Always have been.
We searched Craxton's cottage
till we ran out of places to look.
Nothing. Any luck your end?
No. He's denying any involvement.
We've got nothing.
We'll have to release him.
Take a look at that.
That's the Bantling family crest.
It's got to be him.
Can't we lean on him a bit,
keep his feet to the fire?
Sergeant, this is Midsomer,
not the Met.
Did they not teach you about
the holy trinity?
There are three things required
before you move
from suspicion to conviction.
Motive, opportunity and evidence.
And the greatest of these three,
my son,
is evidence, which in
Ray's case we do not have.
Yeah, but, sir...
He will be released.
Bring that along with you.
See him fly! His feet are wings!
Keeper of the secret of the ring!
Shoes on! Quick sticks!
(PLAYFUL LAUGH)
We'll be late.
DOORBELL
Who the hell's that?
What do you see?
Well, it's...
it's a coat of arms, isn't it?
Yeah. The hammer and the pennant.
Now we have three people killed
with a hammer
and two of them were gagged,
each with a triangular cloth
in the shape of the pennant.
There could be a connection, sir,
but why not gag
all three of the victims?
Why not indeed? Something different
about Bruce Hartley's death...
Oh, Inspector. We were just going to
Fallowfields to see Bantling Boy.
Lady Hartley, could you tell me,
where were you last night?
You and Geoffrey?
I was working in my office
on some accounts.
The boys were playing
their computer games. Is that all?
Geoffrey, that shield up there.
What does that mean to you?
The crest of the Bantlings.
Into the car, boys.
Goodbye.
Peter.
If you think Geoffrey had anything
to do with these dreadful murders,
you're very much off track.
He's completely harmless.
I'm sure he is.
But I have to ask these questions,
Lady Hartley.
And sometimes the most unlikely
people do the most extraordinary
things. Don't they?
I'll drop you off at the station,
Scott, if I may.
Head up to Fallowfields with them.
Put it away now, Peter.
The secret of the ring.
CAR STARTS UP
The secret of the ring.
I want to get out, Ray.
Yes, so do I.
I meant you and me and our Peter.
We just pack everything and go.
I want us to start again.
We could be back to how we were.
Just us three.
No, Joanna.
There's no going back.
You destroyed all that.
You and Angela
and the whole damn lot of them!
Ray, please!
To hell with you!
It's all cleared with
the custody sergeant, Mr Craxton.
You're free to go.
Thanks...for nothing.
Doesn't Bantling Boy look a picture?
Yes, he does.
Can I give him this?
Can he?
I think he'd love it.
GEOFFREY: Can I stroke him?
Of course you can, Geoffrey.
HORSE NEIGHS
He doesn't like you, Geoffrey.
He only likes ME.
Can I ride him?
Is that all right, Major?
You can sit on him, yes.
OK, Peter. Go on.
One, two, three, up!
Sir Peter on his charger.
He's the best!
Out of Midsomer Girl
by Bantling Brave
from Knight's Maiden
by King's Charter
who was out of Royal Dynasty.
All right. We've heard enough.
It's breeding, you see.
It's in the blood.
Everything's in the breeding.
METAL CLANGS
Ray?
Are you in there, Ray?
DOOR CREAKS
DOOR SLAMS SHUT
(SCREAMS)
CLASHING SWORDS
It's Joanna Craxton. Head caved in.
Dead?
Yes, same as the others.
Ray Craxton found her.
My money says he put her there
as well.
I thought you were holding him.
We were.
I've just had the Super on,
wanting to know why he was released.
It's the holy trinity.
Motive, opportunity and evidence,
the greatest of which is evidence,
which in Craxton's case
we didn't have. Did we?
No. I preferred my doubts
to your certainties.
Lady Hartley, can you look after
Peter? His father will be with us.
Yes, of course.
You'll never get your hands on him!
NEVER!
Thank you.
SIREN
"You'll never get your hands on him,"
he said.
Meaning the horse?
Ta... Or his son.
Craxton clearly resents
Angela Hartley's closeness to Joanna
and her owning a share
in Bantling Boy.
Scott, there's something
staring us in the face here
and we are missing it.
About Joanna? The syndicate?
The syndicate.
Yeah. As each member
of the syndicate died,
their share was passed on to the
remaining members of the syndicate
until Joanna Craxton owned the lot.
But now she's dead,
who owns the horse?
It's a matter of your husband's will.
The bequest of Bantling Boy.
I've left my note book. Excuse me.
TRIES DOOR
SOUNDS OF PLAYFUL SWORDFIGHT
PETER: You're my champion,
Sir Geoffrey.
Now that Joanna Craxton's dead,
who owns Bantling Boy?
The terms of the will are that
the horse now belongs to Peter.
To Peter?
Oh, come on, Barnaby,
you're a man of the world.
Peter's mother Joanna...
nursed my husband.
Were they lovers?
Nine years ago,
my husband raped Joanna.
PETER: Get up!
Until the death!
Peter!
Joanna was Catholic.
So were the Hartleys.
Just as a divorce was
out of the question for me,
so was abortion for her.
I paid her money.
Every week.
She kept quiet
and she kept the child.
Osgood was his doctor,
Machin was his gardener,
and I take it they and your son Bruce
all knew what had happened to Joanna.
They knew.
And that's why your husband left
all the Bantling Boy shares
to the four of them as a reward
for their silence.
Yes.
BEEP
Peter is very fond of Bantling Boy.
I doubt he'd want him sold to
Mr Tate.
We'll see.
It will be Peter's decision.
Oh, I hope it is.
Your sergeant seems to have
gone missing.
Perhaps we'd better find him.
Sergeant Scott?
BEEP
Are you looking for something,
Sergeant?
Er...the toilet.
This way.
It's a proprietary game
taken off the internet,
but it's been modified.
They've added some variables, loops.
And in English that is?
Someone's taken the original game
and expanded on it.
The object now seems to be to redeem
the honour of the Bantling.
So I followed the pathway plan
through to the final level,
where I found this secret chamber.
And then this.
The victims' names are all there,
sir.
Bruce Hartley, Dr Osgood,
Trevor Machin and Joanna Craxton.
That's grotesque.
All of the deaths are described,
each one using medieval language.
"Ye hammer of vengeance
and ye pennant of pride."
The quest seems to be
to take revenge on the ring,
the betrayers of the secret.
Could the ring be the syndicate?
The ring of owners of Bantling Boy?
The hero of the game is Sir Peter
riding a mighty steed.
It all ties in with Craxton's
obsession with battle recreation
and medieval weapons.
Why put that on Peter's computer?
I think he's used the game
to rehearse the killings
before he carries them out.
Could Geoffrey have created this?
No, it's beyond him.
He's got an IQ of about...two.
I think that when Joanna told Ray
that Peter wasn't his son...
it tipped him over the edge
into this.
I don't know what games
you're talking about.
The Secret of the Ring - the game
you downloaded onto Peter's laptop.
His laptop? I hate them things.
I work with my hands, Inspector.
I'm computer illiterate.
When did you first discover
that Peter wasn't your real son,
Mr Craxton?
Joanna told me the night
Bruce Hartley was killed
that Peter wasn't mine.
They all knew, the whole syndicate.
They've been laughing behind my back
for years.
Mr Craxton,
four people are to be buried,
the very ones you say were
laughing at you behind your back.
I didn't kill them!
My wife is dead.
And to me, Peter is still my son.
So either charge me or
let me go home and look after him.
The game on your computer, Peter.
The Secret of the Ring.
What's it about?
The quest of the Bantling.
Quest?
To take back the secret of the ring.
Did your father invent the game,
Peter? Did you play it with Ray?
He is not my father.
I don't want to see him ever again.
DOOR SLAMS
I had to tell him, Inspector.
It's his birthright
to know who he is.
What he is. He's my husband's son.
He's heir to the lordship
and manor of Bantling.
Lady Hartley, if I may, I'd like
to examine your computer, please.
Feel free.
I've nothing to hide.
Thank you.
Mr Craxton.
Mr Craxton, you are free to go.
But...
I must seriously advise you
not to try and approach Peter.
I want my son.
Please. Be warned.
For his sake and for yours.
Stay away from Peter.
Get anything from
Lady Hartley's computer?
Plenty to interest the Inland
Revenue, but nothing for us so far.
I've had to let Craxton go.
We've got nothing on him -
no blood stains,
no weapon, no fingerprints, nothing.
It's a bit of a risk, isn't it, sir?
Yes. Yes, it is.
Scott, you can leave that.
You follow Craxton.
Don't let him out of your sight.
Sit tight on that cottage.
Yes, sir.
We had a deal. You can't back out
now after everything I've done.
Anything you've done, Sam,
you did for yourself.
And you're Lady Bountiful?
Come off it, Angela.
You're as ruthless as I am.
We're two of a kind.
I hardly think so.
You think you can ditch me now?
Now you can control Bantling Boy
through Peter?
No way!
Please, don't raise your voice
in my kitchen.
I will not change my mind.
Oh, yes, you will, Angela.
Only fools and the departed
never change their minds.
DOG BARKS
RUSTLING
What's another word for con man?
Nine letters, ending in R.
Ray Craxton's son Peter,
he really is extraordinary.
Fraudster.
Pardon?
Con man. Nine letters ending in R.
He can remember
Bantling Boy's pedigree
back four or five generations.
The sires, the mares, everything.
That hadn't occurred to me.
I never thought of that,
even as a possibility.
What?
Something Scott said.
To quest: to take revenge on the
Ring, the betrayers of the Secret.
KEYBOARD CLATTERING
To redeem the honour
of the Bantling.
Give me the dictionary.
Ta.
Honour of the Bantlings, eh?
Band. Banshee. Bantam...
Bantling!
Oh!
Oh, of course.
Sleep well, Peter.
Mmmuh! Sleep tight.
Night, Geoffrey.
Say good night, Geoffrey.
Good night.
It's the three of us now, boys.
Nothing more to worry about,
Geoffrey, nothing, not now.
This will be our family home
for ever!
MOBILE PHONE RINGS
Barnaby.
'Sir, it's Scott. I've lost Craxton.
He's on the loose, I'm afraid.'
OK, Scott. Get over to Bantling Hall
as fast as you can.
Ray!
I told you to stay away.
I want my son!
CHILD SCREAMS
Peter!
SCREAMING
Peter!
SCREAMING
(UPSTAIRS) No, no, don't do it!
No, no, Geoffrey!
No!
No, leave him!
Peter!
No, no, no, no, no!
No, no, no, no!
I don't want to! No!
I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!
You're a traitor! Betrayer!
Leave me alone!
It was you, Geoffrey, wasn't it?
You did all this killing.
Bruce and Trevor, John and Joanna.
It was YOU, wasn't it?
Is that true, Geoffrey?
No!
Was it you?
Yeah, but not by himself,
Lady Hartley.
Not by himself.
Surely, you're not suggesting -
Oh, no. He did it at Peter's bidding.
Isn't that right, Peter?
Oh, Peter.
Peter?
Geoffrey.
Geoffrey.
On the night Bruce died,
can you remember
where you were about ten o'clock?
Bruce upset Angela.
And that upset you, too, did it?
Yes! He was mean to her.
And he wouldn't sell the horse
to help Angela keep Bantling Hall.
You and that half-wit brother
of yours!
No!
(Angela...)
This is home, Angela.
I want to stay here.
Oh, Geoffrey.
So, you went out looking for him,
Geoffrey.
Yes.
I crept up on him.
He didn't see me.
CLANG
Then I found a hammer, so I...
NEIGHING
WHINNY
What did you do with the hammer?
I hid it.
In the priests' hiding hole.
Oh!
You couldn't find it!
The idea for that game, Geoffrey,
that was Peter's, wasn't it? Yes!
He has a lot of ideas,
doesn't he...Peter?
And you are his best friend,
Geoffrey.
You don't have secrets
from one another.
No.
Bet you told him, didn't you?
You told him
what you'd done to Bruce.
He said he'd tell on me
if I didn't...
and they would take me away
and put me in prison!
Why, Geoffrey?
Why did Peter want you to do to
the others what you'd done to Bruce?
Because...!
Because they betrayed the secret.
What secret?
That Peter was a Bantling?
Yes.
He overheard his mum and dad
fighting about it.
He thinks of himself as yours.
He's yours!
He is the bastard son
of the Hartleys,
that is what he is!
(SOBBING)
They'd been arguing about you,
hadn't they, Peter?
Yes.
Your mother told your father
that you weren't really his son.
That you were...a Bantling.
Yes, I am a Bantling.
The word bantling was an ancient
medieval term for...bastard.
Isn't that right?
And you knew that word, didn't you?
From your medieval myths,
and your codes of chivalry.
You knew what it meant
to be a bantling.
To wear the badge of shame,
forfeit all honour,
be mocked, scorned,
outcast for ever.
And the Ring
were the owners of Bantling Boy,
who knew the secret.
They were the Possessors,
sworn to keep it safe.
Once betrayed,
the Secret must be taken back.
But how, Peter, how?
By the Knight Champion,
with the Hammer Of Vengeance and
the Pennant Of Pride in his hand.
He could steal back
the Secret Of The Ring.
And Geoffrey
was your Knight Champion, was he?
GEOFFREY: I want to be
Lord Of The Manor now.
No, you're Knight Champion,
Sir Geoffrey, brave and fearless.
So, Geoffrey stole back the secret
by silencing them one by one.
That was his quest in
that computer game that you created.
Yes.
And you almost won that duel,
didn't you? Eh, Peter?
Colonel Hartley's Bantling Boy...
..and Colonel Hartley's title...
..would be all yours.
It's breeding.
Class will tell.
Horses and people alike.
It wasn't a game, Peter!
Peter...
I don't think he can hear us,
Mr Craxton.
What I don't understand, sir, is why
Geoffrey turned on Peter in the end.
Peter's last command to Geoffrey
was to kill Angela,
because she knew
about his Bantling secret, as well.
But Geoffrey liked Angela,
she was his sister.
He couldn't do it,
so he turned on Peter instead.
Makes you feel a bit queasy, sir.
A little kid like that using his
computer to turn murder into a game.
Ah, Scott,
when killing becomes entertainment,
we all lose touch with reality.
We'll turn in here.
Sir? Tell the landlord we are onto
the thefts in his car park.
TV: With just two furlongs to go
Ruby Mist has Bantling Boy
on his shoulder.
Jake Foley sitting
with a double handful.
Foley asks for an effort now and
Bantling Boy storms into the lead!
And Bantling Boy wins his comeback
race at a canter!
Have you had a bet on, sir?
I have, Scott.
I made myself a nice little killing.
Subtitles by ITFC
Unhand the maid! Or perish!
Never!
I'll unhorse you here.
HAMMERING
MAN SHOUTS, WOMAN SCREAMS
How is he, Foley?
Ready to run for his life, boss.
Good, cos I'm putting a real jockey
up on him for tomorrow's race.
A top rider, from Newmarket.
You can't do this. He needs a rider
with a bit of class, don't you?
The race is mine. You owe me.
I owe you nothing.
HORSE WHINNIES
HISSING
Bantling Boy is eating up
the ground. Pulling double.
Jake's done wonders with him.
I'm the damn trainer, Marianna.
How many years
since your last winner?
He'll win the cup.
Then maybe you can find it within
yourself to give me some credit.
Car theft, Scott. Our superintendent
is hoping for something better.
Me too, sir.
That's a nice outfit, sir.
Mrs Barnaby choose it for you?
Yes, she did. I'm off to
the charity event at Causton Races.
Gonna have yourself a flutter?
No. It's a mug's game.
I don't know. I enjoy a punt
on the horses, studying form.
Well, plenty of form there
for you to study, Scott. Enjoy.
Go on. Get your glad rags on.
We'll make a day of it.
Sam, I've told you,
I'm already committed.
CAR HORN
They're here!
(LAUGHS)
Sir Peter! Have at you!
Die, varlet! Surrender, saucy knave!
Die!
Put that back immediately, Geoffrey.
Sorry, Angela. Sorry.
HORN
Morning, Lady Hartley. Come on, Jo.
I've got a horse to shoe.
Peter.
Come here.
Thanks for having him.
Now, you be good.
He always is.
Is she coming?
Yes, she's still on the phone.
Oh!
It's work, Tom. She's up for a part.
We'll miss the first race. Ah!
I have an audition.
That's great, Cully. What is it?
To play Hero.
Shouldn't that be heroine?
No, Dad. Hero's a woman.
Shakespeare. Much Ado About Nothing.
Let's hope this time it isn't.
DISTANT RACE COMMENTARY
CHEERING
The next race is the Causton Gold
Cup, sponsored by Tate's Bread.
Local hopeful Bantling Boy is owned
by a syndicate of Midsomer villagers
and is trained by Bruce Hartley.
He's been working terribly hard
and he's come on tremendously well.
We've got the right man
on top of it today as well.
He's a very genuine animal.
More than can be said for you.
"That brings us to our next race,
the Causton Gold Cup."
"Five runners in what promises
to be a very competitive race."
500 to win, Bantling Boy.
Ticket, 74. Thank you, guvnor.
Steady.
I know my job, Mr Hartley.
You must be gutted.
I could gut Bruce Hartley, for sure.
Been going since I retired
the Horse Guards.
Wife thinks I'm mad,
but is the world any saner, Barnaby?
How many rescue horses
at Fallowfields now?
Too many. Those horses
have rescued me often enough.
Hauling artillery
over the Italian mountains in '45.
Splendid creatures.
Yes, indeed they are.
Dad. Oh, hello, Major. Can I borrow
your wallet for a second?
Why?
We're gonna put a bet on.
Smile like a sunburst,
that girl of yours.
Hasn't changed
since her pony-club days.
"Jockeys mounting up now..."
Can I have ã50 to win on Hawksbill?
3:30 at the Causton Cup. Thank you.
You've done your money there,
squire. Bantling Boy will romp home.
It'll win me plenty.
Got the mortgage on him?
I own a leg of it.
(COUGHS) That horse could win
pulling a milk float.
BICYCLE BELL
"Here comes Simon Winter on Bantling
Boy, just cantering up the post."
"Just the five runners, then,
for this afternoon's big race."
"In goes Bantling Boy."
"With Indian Tonic on the rails
and Carmelite moving well behind her,
it's Hawksbill moving along."
What's he holding them up for?
Come on,
give him a bit of stick there.
What's he doing?
Come on!
Come on, Bantling Boy.
Come on!
Is that the one you backed?
Yes, he's local. Midsomer-trained.
Come on, Bantling Boy.
Come on!
SHOUTING
"Bantling Boy a length and a half
behind in second place."
CHANTING
I told him to drop him out.
No, he needs to pick up the pace.
Come on, Bantling Boy!
"Sir Richard out and committed
in front of Hawksbill."
"But here comes Bantling Boy,
moving strongly."
Come on, Bantling Boy!
Come on, Bantling Boy!
How much did you put on?
I put ã30 to win.
30...?
Come on, Bantling Boy! Come on!
Come on, Bantling Boy!
"Bantling Boy, three furlongs to go."
Come on, Hawksbill.
Come on!
SHOUTING
Come on, yeah, he's going.
Whip him on, my son.
SHOUTING
Go! Go! Go!
"Neck-and-neck in the final furlong."
Get up there.
"Bantling Boy has a nose in front."
Come on!
SHOUTING
Push him on! Push him on!
CHEERING
Wey!
BICYCLE BELL
Bantling Boy won.
Bantling Boy won.
Sam Tate. Interested in selling him?
Well...
I'll give you 500,000.
Pounds?
Guineas if you like.
Keep away from my owners.
I'll talk to who I like.
He's not for sale. Get away.
Don't push me!
I'll see you finished. He'll be
the last horse you ever train.
ã30 at 3-1. That's ã90 profit.
Dinner at the Bon Chance restaurant,
bottle of Beau, steak a point.
No, this money's going to charity.
To Fallowfields.
Spend our winnings
saving some nag from the glue pot?
Yes.
Well, what a waste.
Fish and chips?
I will not sell. That's final.
Half a million quid.
That's 125 grand a piece.
He'll be worth even more next year.
If he breaks his leg tomorrow,
he'll be dog food.
The money would be very useful.
My father left us Bantling Boy
as reward for our loyalty.
I demand the same loyalty from you.
Don't dress it up, Bruce. We all
know why he left the horse to you.
This is nothing to do with you!
(SHE CRIES)
The terms of the syndicate require
a unanimous decision.
Dr Osgood?
Are you LOYAL to Bruce on this?
Yes. I'm with Bruce on this.
I say we sell. I need the money.
Me an' all.
We'll get ourselves a lawyer.
You want to break up the syndicate?
You want the truth to come out?
Hmm? Cos it will.
Bantling Boy will be sold
over my dead body!
Then get into bed with Sam Tate.
You can give him what he wants.
Why the hell should I?
How dare you?
Bite his hand off, Mother. Before
you're past your sell-by date.
You and that halfwit brother
of yours.
Don't cry.
Why now?
Because Bruce said he would tell,
he said he'd tell everybody.
I can't believe this.
They knew. All of them knew.
Well, damn the lot of them,
and damn you!
Ray!
(SHE CRIES)
METAL BANGING
SHOUTING
I know. I know, it has to stop.
No. No, don't come round.
Please, John. John!
J-
Come on.
Boy.
WHINNIES
Marianna!
In here.
Stay back, Ray. He... He's dead.
What happened?
I don't know. I found him.
Jake's disappeared.
We need the police.
Don't touch anything.
Marianna, come away.
I doubt it was a kick.
Blunt, heavy weapon, I suspect.
The horse could've stood
in the pooling blood.
Or the hoof was smeared
to make it appear accidental?
Possibly.
Thanks for your help.
Er, Mr Craxton, when did you last see
Bruce Hartley alive?
About eightish last night. Drunk as
a hand cart, shouting his head off.
Bruce was a pain in the ear
with everybody.
Including you?
I left here about 8:00.
By 9:00 he was having a blazing
argument with the syndicate.
What syndicate?
Bruce Hartley owned Bantling Boy
with Dr Osgood, Trevor Machin
and Joanna, my wife.
Look, I had nothing to do
with any of that.
I've got a horse to shoe.
Of course you have.
Er... Jake Foley, stable lad.
Where can we find him?
Dunno. Seems he went last night.
And we'll need this hammer, please.
For Forensics. Yes, George?
Thank you.
Why?
Just routine, Mr Craxton.
Thank you.
Don't play Little Miss Innocent
with me.
You brought nothing
into this marriage.
How dare you?
Osgood? Or the two of you together?
Leave, Angela! Now!
Um... DCI Barnaby. This is DS Scott.
Sorry.
My mother-in-law.
Mrs Hartley?
Do you feel able to answer
a few questions, please?
If I can be of any help.
Jake Foley,
I understand he's missing.
Yes.
Jake was the real horseman here.
He should have been
on Bantling Boy yesterday
but Bruce took the ride from him.
Oh, how did Jake take that?
He put up with it.
He put up with it?
We all put up with Bruce...
His drinking, his violent temper.
Was your husband violent last night,
Mrs Hartley? Towards you?
We did argue. I...
I fell. Sprained my wrist.
What did you argue about?
It was personal.
OK.
One more question. Were you alone
here last night with your husband?
Yes.
A very angry woman
swinging a heavy weapon
might just do
that kind of damage to herself.
You mean the sprained wrist?
Very neatly bandaged, isn't it?
Scott, the people in this syndicate
that own Bantling Boy...
I met one of them yesterday, sir.
Trevor Machin. Lives in a
wheelchair. Breath like a badger.
You can start with Trevor Machin.
Where exactly did you meet him?
At the Hammer and Pennant.
The Hammer and Pennant, Scott?
I thought you were supposed
to be investigating car thefts.
I noticed that most of the car
thefts took place in pub car parks.
I did a sort of tour.
A forensic pub crawl, was it?
Public-house-to-house enquiries,
sir.
I'm off to Bantling Hall. Put out
a call for this Jake Foley. Yes, sir.
Yes!
A hit! Come on. Bull's-eye next.
Go for gold, yes?
Shoot it again.
I can do it myself.
Going to help.
No, you can't.
Excuse me. Detective Chief Inspector
Barnaby, Causton CID.
Come inside, will you?
Shoot.
No, get off.
Stupid!
You made me miss. Go and fetch.
Cecil Hartley, 3rd Baron Bantling.
Famous Catholic.
Involved in the Gunpowder Plot.
George, 4th Baron Bantling.
Betrayed the king at Marston Moor.
Thomas Bantling. Fought
in the American War of Independence.
For the Americans. More bloodshed
and treachery in the Bantling family
than all Shakespeare's plays
put together.
Shut the door, will you?
You may as well know
my relationship with my son
had been in low water for some time.
Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.
Was there a particular reason?
When my husband died last year,
he left me nothing but debts.
I WAS lady of the manor.
I'm now maid of all work.
I cook, clean,
do accounts for tradesmen
to keep body and soul together.
And your son was unsympathetic?
There was a profound shallowness
about my son,
a childlike selfishness
which he inherited from his father.
What about his wife, Marianna?
The girl lacked background.
My son made a bad marriage.
Have you lived alone
since your husband's death?
I live with my brother Geoffrey,
a full-time occupation himself.
The body of a man,
the mind of a child.
Men who remain children
seem to run in my family.
This horse, Bantling Boy,
your husband left it to a syndicate,
didn't he? Why did he do that?
Bruce and my husband wasted
a fortune on useless horses.
Bantling Boy
was a home-bred yearling
when he willed it to the syndicate.
Now it's worth thousands.
Just another of life's ironies.
I understand
there was some sort of argument
at the meeting of the syndicate
last night.
They had an offer for the horse.
Bruce refused to sell.
His death will make the rest of them
considerably richer. How?
If a member dies, their share passes
to the remaining members. I see.
All of which is cold comfort to me.
I shall have to sell Bantling Hall
to settle my husband's debts.
It's been in the family 500 years.
Devastating loss.
More devastating
than the loss of your son?
Frankly, Inspector, yes.
Mr Machin, I'd like to know where
you were last night about 10:00.
Whoa! I'm stuck in this wheelchair.
I couldn't kill him
no matter how much I wanted to.
This horse of yours, Bantling Boy.
How did you get a share in it?
30 years a gardener at the hall.
It broke my back. Colonel Hartley
left it me as a reward.
But you're chasing shadows
if you think the horse is behind it.
No, this is family matters.
In what way?
Have you met Hartley's wife?
Marianna.
Her with the swimming-pool eyes.
Right, talk to Dr Osgood.
Him and Hartley are like that.
But behind Hartley's back, Osgood
and Marianna are like that, an' all.
They're having an affair?
Bit of one with the other, yeah.
I saw Osgood driving to the stables
last night like a bat out of hell.
What time was this?
About 10:00.
Thank you, that's very useful.
See yourself out, can you?
Yeah.
Ginseng and dandelion.
Sharpens the mind.
Thank you. I understand, Dr Osgood,
you and Bruce Hartley were friends.
Grew up in the village. Climbed the
same trees. Chased the same girls.
Very good friends, then.
So Bruce Hartley left you
the share in Bantling Boy?
No, his father bequeathed it to me.
I became his doctor
in his final years.
Dead long before they buried him,
poor chap. Cancer.
When did you last see Bruce Hartley?
At Causton Races.
French-kissing a bottle of
champagne. Chateau'd, I'm afraid.
Would you say he's got a problem
with drink?
Bruce was a functioning alcoholic,
sergeant, like his father.
Causton Races, you say.
You're not being entirely honest
with us, are you, Dr Osgood?
We know that you saw him
up at the hall last night.
You've heard about that?
Oh, yes, indeed.
We also have a witness who saw you
driving towards the stables at 10:00
last night.
I'm assuming it was you
who bandaged Marianna's wrist.
Is she a patient of yours?
Yes, Marianna called me.
Bruce had assaulted her. Again.
Just a house call, was it, Doctor?
OK.
Marianna and I are involved
but Bruce knew nothing.
I love Marianna
and I begged her to leave him.
How did you feel knowing
that your good friend had assaulted
the woman you love?
Did you confront him?
Teach him a lesson?
He'd cleared off, Inspector.
I assumed he'd gone to the pub.
How do you like him for it, sir?
Love ripens into vengeance?
Crime of passion?
Possibly.
What about this syndicate,
this strange collection of locals
who own Bantling Boy?
Trevor Machin was the Colonel's
gardener. Osgood was his doctor.
Why leave Joanna Craxton
a leg of the horse?
Pass.
Right, lunch. Then we'll find out.
He's off his food, Ray.
Hasn't touched an oat.
The vet scoped him. Blood test.
Something or somebody's got to him.
Somebody?
He's worth good money now. There's
nothing in the way of security here.
Maybe we should move him.
Where?
I don't know. Anywhere but here.
I'd like to be a million miles
away myself.
Yeah, me too.
I'm only going as far as the forge,
so call me if you need me.
DOGS BARK
My uncle was a bookmaker.
Was he?
Yeah.
In the blood, then, is it?
Used to carry the satchel for him at
Kempton Park, do the old tick-tack.
130, Burlington Bertie, all that.
What a sheltered life I've led.
I'm sure you've had your moments.
Not at Kempton Park, I haven't.
Mr Craxton.
Just a minute.
Mr Craxton, we are here
to see your wife. Is she in?
She's in the back garden.
Is this you, sir?
Yeah, we have medieval tournaments
over at Bantling Hall every year
for charity.
Is that your son?
Yeah. He loves all that malarkey.
Mad over it. This way.
Put a nasty dent in your skull.
WMD, Scott.
Weapons of medieval destruction.
Mrs Craxton, I understand that you're
one of the owners of Bantling Boy.
Yes.
I'm a visiting nurse. I looked after
Lord Bantling during his illness.
And he left me a share in the horse.
We're establishing the whereabouts of
people around about 10:00 last night.
Well, I was here with Peter.
Were you all together all the time?
No, Ray had gone for a walk.
A walk?
Tell them. Tell them what you like.
He just wanted
to get out for some air.
You know,
he wanted to be on his own.
Can I take it your husband
is not entirely happy
about your involvement
with Bantling Boy?
You'll have to ask him
about that yourself. Excuse me.
Hiya.
What's that game you're playing?
Secret Of The Ring.
Want a go?
Yes. Yes, please.
Here. Hold this.
MOBILE PHONE
OK. Now, wait.
Steady.
Hello?
When I tell you, fire!
Yes, you got him.
Is killing people
your idea of fun, young man?
It's only a game.
Er, sir, we've got a treble 9 call
from Lodge Stables.
Marianna Hartley.
I think we should get down there.
If all the killing in the world
was only a game,
nobody would ever be hurt,
would they?
No, that is true. Very true.
Out of the mouths of babes...
ELECTRONIC CHUCKLE
Somebody's prowling round.
I've seen them twice now.
Bantling Boy's ailing.
I'm worried he's been got at.
Got at?
I don't like saying this, but Foley
was in trouble a few years ago.
A doping scandal. Race-fixing.
Was he prosecuted?
Nothing was proved, but mud sticks.
He had trouble getting rides.
That's why he came to us.
I presume if Bantling Boy is a sick
horse, that could reduce his value.
Oh, yes, the vet's been up. It'll be
all round the county by now.
Sam Tate wants to buy the horse. He
could save himself a lot of money.
Yes. You don't think
Sam Tate's behind this, do you?
We've spoken with Dr Osgood,
Mrs Hartley,
and you haven't
been entirely frank with us
about your relationship with him.
No.
Sorry.
Last night, after Bruce hit me,
he stormed off.
I called John.
He came up here but he left.
He has nothing to do
with Bruce's death.
And what about you?
Were you angry with your husband
that he'd attacked you?
Did you go looking for him?
Find him in here then...
No!
I married a vulgar bully and, yes,
I've wished him dead often enough.
But I didn't kill him.
Right now the most important thing
is to increase your security.
Whoever killed your husband may have
been trying to steal Bantling Boy
when he disturbed them.
I said to Ray to move him
somewhere safer.
That would be a good idea.
In the meantime, Sergeant Scott
can stay with him.
He's very good with horses.
He spent many happy days with them.
Yes, sir. I'm not sure I fancy
spending the night with one.
Cully.
Cully.
How'd it go?
I was wrong for the part.
Again.
It'll come.
Will it?
I feel so useless, just sitting
around waiting for my agent to ring.
I'm not making any money.
Just frittering away my life,
you know?
I'm...sorry.
Hey, do you remember
the Fallowfields?
Yeah, why?
Got to drop this off up there.
Why don't you come along with me?
Take you out of yourself.
It's all right, you don't have to.
I'm just a misery right now.
Come on, you know what they say.
Misery needs company. Come on.
ã90?
Yes, ã90.
Mrs Barnaby won that on Bantling Boy
and she insisted that you have it.
Splendid.
Need every bit of help we can get.
I wonder, Major,
if you could help us out here.
We think that Bantling Boy
has been got at
and/or someone
is trying to steal him.
He needs stabling. Somewhere
out of the way, somewhere safe.
This is the back of beyond.
Get nobody out here
except the odd birdwatcher.
And the occasional rambler
bimbling about.
Be safe enough here.
So, you think you can manage
Bantling Boy?
Well, George,
my head man's just retired.
92.
Lovable old biscuit.
Complete horse nut, like myself.
Point being, it's left us a bit thin
in the ranks.
Well,
perhaps Cully could help you out
while you've got some time
on your hands.
I wondered
why you dragged me up here.
Doesn't pay much, I'm afraid.
Just three square meals and BFH.
Bus fares home. Is that agreeable?
Sounds great.
Until I get a better offer.
CAT MIAOWS, DOGS BARK
RAT SQUEAKS
SQUEAKS
HORSE SNORTS
Police, stay where you are.
Why did you go on the run, Mr Foley?
The only running I did was
to catch the last bus to Causton.
Bruce fired me,
told me to clear out.
Why?
From what I hear, the success
of Bantling Boy was down to you.
Why?
Bruce was a wannabe jockey
but a few sizes too large.
That's why he jocked me off.
Jealousy.
That made you bitter.
Course it did.
Why did you go back to the stables
last night, Jake?
I heard they called a vet out
to Bantling Boy.
Someone got to him. Was it you?
I've raised that horse
since a yearling. He's not sick.
He's pining.
For you?
There's a bond between a horse
and his minder that goes deep.
Your four-legged friend, is he?
Of course, you've doped your friends
in the past, haven't you?
Fixed the odd race.
That was malicious.
I was never charged with anything.
I have to ask you this, Mr Foley.
Did you kill Bruce Hartley?
No!
You wanna know who I think did it?
Sam Tate.
Tate's Bread.
Why him?
Him and Bruce had a right set-to
after the race.
If anyone's gonna be dancing on
Hartley's grave, it'll be Sam Tate.
With Bruce gone,
that just leaves the doctor.
So don't disappoint me.
The police.
I don't want to be seen here.
I don't want them in our business.
No, just keep out of sight.
If I'm on your list,
you can cross me off right now.
Mr Tate, you had a bit of a run-in
at the racecourse the other day.
He made a backside of himself,
if that's what you mean.
I offered to buy Bantling Boy
and what I want I usually get.
Mr Tate, have you
or any of your acquaintances
been near Bantling Boy
since the race?
No, nowhere near.
Do you live here alone, Mr Tate?
Yes, divorced two years ago.
Happily unmarried ever since.
Heard of Tate's Oven-Ready Bread?
Oh, indeed I have.
♪ The crust you can trust ♪
That's the one. It's disgusting
but people buy it cos it saves time.
And time is money. I've got a board
meeting in an hour, Inspector.
Bye.
Thank you, Mr Tate, very much...
For your valuable time.
Bye.
Scott?
Can you run a car check on that?
Yes, sir.
Certainly.
Sarge, it's DS Scott here.
Run a vehicle check
on a registration for me, please.
Kilo 153 Echo Yankie Mike.
No, I'll wait for it.
Thank you.
What do you make of Sam Tate? They
reckon he started as a delivery boy.
Yeah, and I don't suppose he got rich
keeping on the right side of the law.
Yeah? Thank you.
Cheers. Thanks very much.
It's Joanna Craxton's, sir.
What's she doing up here?
I suspect she's come to see a man
about a horse.
Bruce Hartley
as Richard the Lionheart.
Cor! He were the biggest chicken
I ever met.
Are we going to meet here?
Peter's indoors.
I don't want him
hearing our business.
Sam Tate wants an answer
by tomorrow night.
We sell. Me and Joanna's agreed.
What's your vote?
I think Marianna, as Bruce's wife,
should have a say in this.
That's not the syndicate rules,
Doctor. We own Bruce's share.
Morally, Marianna has a right.
Morally?
You still knocking a slice off her?
Trevor!
You'll be laughing all the way
to Bruce's funeral, that's for sure.
That settles it.
The horse is not for sale.
Goodbye.
He don't care, do he? Bloody toff!
DOOR SLAMS
We've got another problem.
Bantling Boy is ailing. He's been
shipped up to Fallowfields.
Who'll pay for that? I'm skint.
It's a charity, Trevor, but if word
gets out, his price will drop.
Oh, damn Osgood.
We got to sell that horse
before it drops dead in its stall.
Keep coming. Keep coming.
That's it.
Back you come. Come on. Slowly.
Come on. Come on. Keep coming.
Keep coming. Whoa! That's it.
This takes me back to the pony-club
trials. Remember the Causton Show?
Five-foot wall.
You were an old worry-guts.
You were lucky to get away
with just a broken arm. Grab that.
Greenstick fracture, wasn't it?
At least you got a lot of exercise
out of it.
These days, kids seem stuck
in front of computers all the time.
OK. Playing games, the entire purpose
of which is to kill people.
The Craxton boy
is obsessed with them.
He's nine years old, right?
Nine years old.
We never let you
play games like that, did we?
I hated computers.
Films were my thing.
Having said that, at nine,
my favourite film was Terminator.
Was it?
Fascination with gruesome deaths
does run in the family.
You think so?
Thanks, Dad. I'm gonna go. I've got
to pick up Bantling Boy at 3:00.
Thank you, Cully. Thank you. Hey!
The phone ringing?
No. I think my agent died.
I need to see him.
Keep away from that horse.
He's pining. That's what's wrong.
I'll call the police.
Calm down!
Get out of my way.
Clear off, Jake. You heard her.
If anything happens
to Bantling Boy...
Why have the police let him go?
They haven't got anything on him.
I think he did it, Ray.
He hated Bruce.
We all hated Bruce.
For the way he treated the horses.
The way he treated you
made my blood boil.
HORN
I'll fetch Bantling Boy.
Think of it
as a marriage of convenience.
Angela Hartley
nee Bantling of Bantling Hall
and Sam Tate
of Roughley Road, Barnsley.
Made in heaven.
Sam, please!
This place will be sold off,
developed, maybe even bulldozed.
Is that what you want
for you and Geoffrey?
Not now, Geoffrey, please.
We have business to discuss.
Well, he's settled in
but still not feeding.
Jake Foley reckons
he's pining for him.
Is it possible?
Yes. Could be.
The Major mentioned
he'd lost his head man.
Do you think he'd take on Jake Foley?
He's very experienced.
Is there a risk? Do you suspect him?
No, I don't. I suspect
he's genuinely fond of this horse.
Pining for Jake, are you, boy?
You know who killed him, don't you?
Eh?
Don't! No! Leave me alone!
All right. It's not going to hurt.
I don't want him touching me. Go!
Any vomiting?
No, but he's been having nightmares.
And cold sweats.
Joanna's out on call, is she?
Yes.
You did right to call me. It's
always better to be safe than sorry.
CLOCK TICKS
Blow to the skull,
exactly as with Bruce Hartley.
This was found tied round
the victim's mouth like a gag.
Was that applied before or after
the blow to the head?
Can't be sure. The head blow killed
him. The skull's very crushed.
Anything back from Forensics
on Craxton's hammer?
I'll chase it up.
Thanks, George.
Bruce Hartley, John Osgood both
opposed the sale of Bantling Boy.
Yeah.
Trevor and Joanna are free
to sell the horse, yeah?
Yeah, and Sam Tate,
who always gets what he wants,
now has a clear way to buy it.
I'd say that makes them joint
favourites. Would you?
Dr Osgood is dead.
Death's the cost of living
for all of us, ain't it?
There'll be no more problems
cos me and Joanna will sell.
I'm not sure I can trust you,
Trevor.
You've been keeping things
from me, haven't you?
Bantling Boy's a sick horse.
It's not you's been getting at him?
Shipped up to Fallowfields. Most
horses come out of there feet first.
Are you buying, or not?
250,000.
That's half of what you said.
You're no worse off.
Your stake's doubled
now Osgood and Hartley are out.
This isn't sweetie money
we're talking about.
Two of the owners of this horse
have come to a sticky end, Trevor.
We don't want you
suffering the same fate.
Are you threatening me?
Just making a once-and-only offer.
Phone me, Trevor.
It seems, Scott, that our Dr Osgood
paid a visit to the Craxtons
yesterday.
What time?
Why do doctors write in Sanskrit?
Can you make head or tail of that?
No.
It means they might've been
the last ones to see him alive.
Let's give the Craxtons a house call
of our own, shall we?
It was Ray who called the doctor.
Peter was having nightmares.
I was out visiting a patient.
The name of this patient?
Dickinson.
But she's got Alzheimer's.
But she can't remember
which way is up.
And the night
that Bruce Hartley died,
you say you were at home here on your
own, your husband gone for a walk.
With Peter. Are you implying I had
something to do with these murders?
Well, the two people who refused
to sell Bantling Boy are now dead.
And you are much the richer
for it, aren't you?
It's not my doing.
None of it.
Oh! Who have we here?
I'm Sir Peter Bantling.
Are you?
Rehearsals for the tournament.
We're due up at the hall.
I hear, Peter,
you've been having nightmares.
It could be The Secret Of The Ring.
Computer games give me nightmares.
With The Secret Of The Ring,
I'm never scared. Never, ever.
Look, I'm late, Inspector.
Ray's up there waiting.
Peter, get in the car.
Bye.
Bye, Sir Peter.
He's a fine little lad. Has he always
been troubled with nightmares?
No more than most.
It's a troubled world, isn't it?
Indeed it is.
Trevor, what is this proposition?
Sam Tate has cut his offer to 250.
So?
Persuade him to up his bid
and I'll give you
20 per cent of every penny more
you can get out of him.
Why do you think I have influence?
You got him round your little
finger. He's a ladies' man.
What about Joanna?
She ain't got your class, has she?
Tell Tate I will not sell,
not for 250 grand. Never.
You may regret saying that.
Well, I'll take my chance.
Thanks for the veg.
Can we have the yeomen, the bowmen
and the camp followers
into the jousting field NOW?
HORSE NEIGHS
Mr Craxton, a couple of questions,
please.
What? In the middle of all this?
I'm in the middle of
a murder enquiry,
and I believe you were the last
person to see Dr John Osgood alive.
When he left mine,
that was the last I saw of him.
Excuse me.
I'm in the middle of a battle.
(INDISTINCT ARGUMENT)
You bought yourself a horse yet,
Mr Tate?
No, but I'm working on it.
TREVOR: He can stuff his offer!
I wish you'd leave Sam to me,
Trevor.
Put my trust in pillow talk? No.
Peter, would you take Mr Machin
his drink, please?
No!
You, young man, will do as I say.
(YELLS)
Little monkey!
Make ready.
Approach.
SCOTT: What's she doing, sir?
She's giving her favour
to her chosen knight.
Making him the favourite,
is that it?
That's where the phrase comes from.
Let battle commence.
DRUM ROLL
HORSES NEIGH
Vicar!
Give mercy.
(GROANS)
Ray and Joanna Craxton
are a double act, sir.
They'll share the money from
the horse sale. That's the motive.
Machin also stands to gain from that,
if money IS the motive
behind all of this.
If it's not money, sir, what is it?
The boy. Peter. He's clearly upset.
Having nightmares.
You should have seen him running
at Trevor Machin with his sword.
I'm not with you on this, sir.
Scott, there's something between
his mother and Trevor Machin...
makes the boy very angry.
Machin's got a hold over her?
Could be.
He was certainly keen to finger
Dr Osgood when I spoke to him.
Tom, I thought you'd want to see
this straight away.
Just back from Forensics.
No prints, I'm afraid,
but it's a pretty close fit
with the head wounds on
Hartley and Dr Osgood.
Definitely the type of weapon
you're looking for.
Ray Craxton's spent a lifetime
swinging hammers like that, sir,
with deadly accuracy.
But everybody knows that, Scott.
The killer could be using that fact.
CLASHING SWORDS
METAL CLANGS
CREAKING
The same hammer blow.
Exactly the same weapon profile,
Tom. Skull crushed and this again.
Why would you do this?
It's a statement.
They're being killed.
Then they're gagged.
They're being ritualistically
silenced.
Would make sense of it.
But silenced about what?
And by whom?
SAM: Inspector Barnaby's car,
isn't it?
I'd better go.
Take care.
Yeah, I was on my own. Working here
till ten on them shields.
When did you last see Trevor Machin,
Ray?
What's going on?
Trevor Machin was murdered
last night.
Oh, my God!
You think I killed him. And
Dr Osgood and Bruce Hartley. Right?
Can we continue this conversation
at the station, Mr Craxton?
Ray.
He wouldn't harm a fly,
let alone kill anybody.
Just his hobby, is it?
Malleting people. Excuse me.
I liked none of them, no.
Nevertheless, your wife now owns
outright a horse worth
half a million pounds.
Everybody in Midsomer's made money
out of that horse. Even the vicar.
Look, it caused me and Joanna
nothing but arguments.
I killed nobody.
Why are you picking on me?
Because you don't have an alibi
for the times of the murders.
What about Sam Tate and that cow
Angela Hartley?
You haven't pulled them in.
Come on. We've questioned everyone
alike, no matter who they are.
You're not going to get the right
answer questioning the wrong man.
I didn't do it.
The police think that Ray
killed all three of them.
Well, they're wrong, aren't they?
What if Ray starts talking...
about the syndicate?
He knows everything, Angela.
All of it.
Me...
You.
How does he know?
Did you tell him?
I had to!
Bruce threatened to tell everybody.
I wanted Ray to hear it from me.
Stay calm, Joanna.
We don't need to panic.
I can look after Peter
as long as you like.
We're in this together.
Always have been.
We searched Craxton's cottage
till we ran out of places to look.
Nothing. Any luck your end?
No. He's denying any involvement.
We've got nothing.
We'll have to release him.
Take a look at that.
That's the Bantling family crest.
It's got to be him.
Can't we lean on him a bit,
keep his feet to the fire?
Sergeant, this is Midsomer,
not the Met.
Did they not teach you about
the holy trinity?
There are three things required
before you move
from suspicion to conviction.
Motive, opportunity and evidence.
And the greatest of these three,
my son,
is evidence, which in
Ray's case we do not have.
Yeah, but, sir...
He will be released.
Bring that along with you.
See him fly! His feet are wings!
Keeper of the secret of the ring!
Shoes on! Quick sticks!
(PLAYFUL LAUGH)
We'll be late.
DOORBELL
Who the hell's that?
What do you see?
Well, it's...
it's a coat of arms, isn't it?
Yeah. The hammer and the pennant.
Now we have three people killed
with a hammer
and two of them were gagged,
each with a triangular cloth
in the shape of the pennant.
There could be a connection, sir,
but why not gag
all three of the victims?
Why not indeed? Something different
about Bruce Hartley's death...
Oh, Inspector. We were just going to
Fallowfields to see Bantling Boy.
Lady Hartley, could you tell me,
where were you last night?
You and Geoffrey?
I was working in my office
on some accounts.
The boys were playing
their computer games. Is that all?
Geoffrey, that shield up there.
What does that mean to you?
The crest of the Bantlings.
Into the car, boys.
Goodbye.
Peter.
If you think Geoffrey had anything
to do with these dreadful murders,
you're very much off track.
He's completely harmless.
I'm sure he is.
But I have to ask these questions,
Lady Hartley.
And sometimes the most unlikely
people do the most extraordinary
things. Don't they?
I'll drop you off at the station,
Scott, if I may.
Head up to Fallowfields with them.
Put it away now, Peter.
The secret of the ring.
CAR STARTS UP
The secret of the ring.
I want to get out, Ray.
Yes, so do I.
I meant you and me and our Peter.
We just pack everything and go.
I want us to start again.
We could be back to how we were.
Just us three.
No, Joanna.
There's no going back.
You destroyed all that.
You and Angela
and the whole damn lot of them!
Ray, please!
To hell with you!
It's all cleared with
the custody sergeant, Mr Craxton.
You're free to go.
Thanks...for nothing.
Doesn't Bantling Boy look a picture?
Yes, he does.
Can I give him this?
Can he?
I think he'd love it.
GEOFFREY: Can I stroke him?
Of course you can, Geoffrey.
HORSE NEIGHS
He doesn't like you, Geoffrey.
He only likes ME.
Can I ride him?
Is that all right, Major?
You can sit on him, yes.
OK, Peter. Go on.
One, two, three, up!
Sir Peter on his charger.
He's the best!
Out of Midsomer Girl
by Bantling Brave
from Knight's Maiden
by King's Charter
who was out of Royal Dynasty.
All right. We've heard enough.
It's breeding, you see.
It's in the blood.
Everything's in the breeding.
METAL CLANGS
Ray?
Are you in there, Ray?
DOOR CREAKS
DOOR SLAMS SHUT
(SCREAMS)
CLASHING SWORDS
It's Joanna Craxton. Head caved in.
Dead?
Yes, same as the others.
Ray Craxton found her.
My money says he put her there
as well.
I thought you were holding him.
We were.
I've just had the Super on,
wanting to know why he was released.
It's the holy trinity.
Motive, opportunity and evidence,
the greatest of which is evidence,
which in Craxton's case
we didn't have. Did we?
No. I preferred my doubts
to your certainties.
Lady Hartley, can you look after
Peter? His father will be with us.
Yes, of course.
You'll never get your hands on him!
NEVER!
Thank you.
SIREN
"You'll never get your hands on him,"
he said.
Meaning the horse?
Ta... Or his son.
Craxton clearly resents
Angela Hartley's closeness to Joanna
and her owning a share
in Bantling Boy.
Scott, there's something
staring us in the face here
and we are missing it.
About Joanna? The syndicate?
The syndicate.
Yeah. As each member
of the syndicate died,
their share was passed on to the
remaining members of the syndicate
until Joanna Craxton owned the lot.
But now she's dead,
who owns the horse?
It's a matter of your husband's will.
The bequest of Bantling Boy.
I've left my note book. Excuse me.
TRIES DOOR
SOUNDS OF PLAYFUL SWORDFIGHT
PETER: You're my champion,
Sir Geoffrey.
Now that Joanna Craxton's dead,
who owns Bantling Boy?
The terms of the will are that
the horse now belongs to Peter.
To Peter?
Oh, come on, Barnaby,
you're a man of the world.
Peter's mother Joanna...
nursed my husband.
Were they lovers?
Nine years ago,
my husband raped Joanna.
PETER: Get up!
Until the death!
Peter!
Joanna was Catholic.
So were the Hartleys.
Just as a divorce was
out of the question for me,
so was abortion for her.
I paid her money.
Every week.
She kept quiet
and she kept the child.
Osgood was his doctor,
Machin was his gardener,
and I take it they and your son Bruce
all knew what had happened to Joanna.
They knew.
And that's why your husband left
all the Bantling Boy shares
to the four of them as a reward
for their silence.
Yes.
BEEP
Peter is very fond of Bantling Boy.
I doubt he'd want him sold to
Mr Tate.
We'll see.
It will be Peter's decision.
Oh, I hope it is.
Your sergeant seems to have
gone missing.
Perhaps we'd better find him.
Sergeant Scott?
BEEP
Are you looking for something,
Sergeant?
Er...the toilet.
This way.
It's a proprietary game
taken off the internet,
but it's been modified.
They've added some variables, loops.
And in English that is?
Someone's taken the original game
and expanded on it.
The object now seems to be to redeem
the honour of the Bantling.
So I followed the pathway plan
through to the final level,
where I found this secret chamber.
And then this.
The victims' names are all there,
sir.
Bruce Hartley, Dr Osgood,
Trevor Machin and Joanna Craxton.
That's grotesque.
All of the deaths are described,
each one using medieval language.
"Ye hammer of vengeance
and ye pennant of pride."
The quest seems to be
to take revenge on the ring,
the betrayers of the secret.
Could the ring be the syndicate?
The ring of owners of Bantling Boy?
The hero of the game is Sir Peter
riding a mighty steed.
It all ties in with Craxton's
obsession with battle recreation
and medieval weapons.
Why put that on Peter's computer?
I think he's used the game
to rehearse the killings
before he carries them out.
Could Geoffrey have created this?
No, it's beyond him.
He's got an IQ of about...two.
I think that when Joanna told Ray
that Peter wasn't his son...
it tipped him over the edge
into this.
I don't know what games
you're talking about.
The Secret of the Ring - the game
you downloaded onto Peter's laptop.
His laptop? I hate them things.
I work with my hands, Inspector.
I'm computer illiterate.
When did you first discover
that Peter wasn't your real son,
Mr Craxton?
Joanna told me the night
Bruce Hartley was killed
that Peter wasn't mine.
They all knew, the whole syndicate.
They've been laughing behind my back
for years.
Mr Craxton,
four people are to be buried,
the very ones you say were
laughing at you behind your back.
I didn't kill them!
My wife is dead.
And to me, Peter is still my son.
So either charge me or
let me go home and look after him.
The game on your computer, Peter.
The Secret of the Ring.
What's it about?
The quest of the Bantling.
Quest?
To take back the secret of the ring.
Did your father invent the game,
Peter? Did you play it with Ray?
He is not my father.
I don't want to see him ever again.
DOOR SLAMS
I had to tell him, Inspector.
It's his birthright
to know who he is.
What he is. He's my husband's son.
He's heir to the lordship
and manor of Bantling.
Lady Hartley, if I may, I'd like
to examine your computer, please.
Feel free.
I've nothing to hide.
Thank you.
Mr Craxton.
Mr Craxton, you are free to go.
But...
I must seriously advise you
not to try and approach Peter.
I want my son.
Please. Be warned.
For his sake and for yours.
Stay away from Peter.
Get anything from
Lady Hartley's computer?
Plenty to interest the Inland
Revenue, but nothing for us so far.
I've had to let Craxton go.
We've got nothing on him -
no blood stains,
no weapon, no fingerprints, nothing.
It's a bit of a risk, isn't it, sir?
Yes. Yes, it is.
Scott, you can leave that.
You follow Craxton.
Don't let him out of your sight.
Sit tight on that cottage.
Yes, sir.
We had a deal. You can't back out
now after everything I've done.
Anything you've done, Sam,
you did for yourself.
And you're Lady Bountiful?
Come off it, Angela.
You're as ruthless as I am.
We're two of a kind.
I hardly think so.
You think you can ditch me now?
Now you can control Bantling Boy
through Peter?
No way!
Please, don't raise your voice
in my kitchen.
I will not change my mind.
Oh, yes, you will, Angela.
Only fools and the departed
never change their minds.
DOG BARKS
RUSTLING
What's another word for con man?
Nine letters, ending in R.
Ray Craxton's son Peter,
he really is extraordinary.
Fraudster.
Pardon?
Con man. Nine letters ending in R.
He can remember
Bantling Boy's pedigree
back four or five generations.
The sires, the mares, everything.
That hadn't occurred to me.
I never thought of that,
even as a possibility.
What?
Something Scott said.
To quest: to take revenge on the
Ring, the betrayers of the Secret.
KEYBOARD CLATTERING
To redeem the honour
of the Bantling.
Give me the dictionary.
Ta.
Honour of the Bantlings, eh?
Band. Banshee. Bantam...
Bantling!
Oh!
Oh, of course.
Sleep well, Peter.
Mmmuh! Sleep tight.
Night, Geoffrey.
Say good night, Geoffrey.
Good night.
It's the three of us now, boys.
Nothing more to worry about,
Geoffrey, nothing, not now.
This will be our family home
for ever!
MOBILE PHONE RINGS
Barnaby.
'Sir, it's Scott. I've lost Craxton.
He's on the loose, I'm afraid.'
OK, Scott. Get over to Bantling Hall
as fast as you can.
Ray!
I told you to stay away.
I want my son!
CHILD SCREAMS
Peter!
SCREAMING
Peter!
SCREAMING
(UPSTAIRS) No, no, don't do it!
No, no, Geoffrey!
No!
No, leave him!
Peter!
No, no, no, no, no!
No, no, no, no!
I don't want to! No!
I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!
You're a traitor! Betrayer!
Leave me alone!
It was you, Geoffrey, wasn't it?
You did all this killing.
Bruce and Trevor, John and Joanna.
It was YOU, wasn't it?
Is that true, Geoffrey?
No!
Was it you?
Yeah, but not by himself,
Lady Hartley.
Not by himself.
Surely, you're not suggesting -
Oh, no. He did it at Peter's bidding.
Isn't that right, Peter?
Oh, Peter.
Peter?
Geoffrey.
Geoffrey.
On the night Bruce died,
can you remember
where you were about ten o'clock?
Bruce upset Angela.
And that upset you, too, did it?
Yes! He was mean to her.
And he wouldn't sell the horse
to help Angela keep Bantling Hall.
You and that half-wit brother
of yours!
No!
(Angela...)
This is home, Angela.
I want to stay here.
Oh, Geoffrey.
So, you went out looking for him,
Geoffrey.
Yes.
I crept up on him.
He didn't see me.
CLANG
Then I found a hammer, so I...
NEIGHING
WHINNY
What did you do with the hammer?
I hid it.
In the priests' hiding hole.
Oh!
You couldn't find it!
The idea for that game, Geoffrey,
that was Peter's, wasn't it? Yes!
He has a lot of ideas,
doesn't he...Peter?
And you are his best friend,
Geoffrey.
You don't have secrets
from one another.
No.
Bet you told him, didn't you?
You told him
what you'd done to Bruce.
He said he'd tell on me
if I didn't...
and they would take me away
and put me in prison!
Why, Geoffrey?
Why did Peter want you to do to
the others what you'd done to Bruce?
Because...!
Because they betrayed the secret.
What secret?
That Peter was a Bantling?
Yes.
He overheard his mum and dad
fighting about it.
He thinks of himself as yours.
He's yours!
He is the bastard son
of the Hartleys,
that is what he is!
(SOBBING)
They'd been arguing about you,
hadn't they, Peter?
Yes.
Your mother told your father
that you weren't really his son.
That you were...a Bantling.
Yes, I am a Bantling.
The word bantling was an ancient
medieval term for...bastard.
Isn't that right?
And you knew that word, didn't you?
From your medieval myths,
and your codes of chivalry.
You knew what it meant
to be a bantling.
To wear the badge of shame,
forfeit all honour,
be mocked, scorned,
outcast for ever.
And the Ring
were the owners of Bantling Boy,
who knew the secret.
They were the Possessors,
sworn to keep it safe.
Once betrayed,
the Secret must be taken back.
But how, Peter, how?
By the Knight Champion,
with the Hammer Of Vengeance and
the Pennant Of Pride in his hand.
He could steal back
the Secret Of The Ring.
And Geoffrey
was your Knight Champion, was he?
GEOFFREY: I want to be
Lord Of The Manor now.
No, you're Knight Champion,
Sir Geoffrey, brave and fearless.
So, Geoffrey stole back the secret
by silencing them one by one.
That was his quest in
that computer game that you created.
Yes.
And you almost won that duel,
didn't you? Eh, Peter?
Colonel Hartley's Bantling Boy...
..and Colonel Hartley's title...
..would be all yours.
It's breeding.
Class will tell.
Horses and people alike.
It wasn't a game, Peter!
Peter...
I don't think he can hear us,
Mr Craxton.
What I don't understand, sir, is why
Geoffrey turned on Peter in the end.
Peter's last command to Geoffrey
was to kill Angela,
because she knew
about his Bantling secret, as well.
But Geoffrey liked Angela,
she was his sister.
He couldn't do it,
so he turned on Peter instead.
Makes you feel a bit queasy, sir.
A little kid like that using his
computer to turn murder into a game.
Ah, Scott,
when killing becomes entertainment,
we all lose touch with reality.
We'll turn in here.
Sir? Tell the landlord we are onto
the thefts in his car park.
TV: With just two furlongs to go
Ruby Mist has Bantling Boy
on his shoulder.
Jake Foley sitting
with a double handful.
Foley asks for an effort now and
Bantling Boy storms into the lead!
And Bantling Boy wins his comeback
race at a canter!
Have you had a bet on, sir?
I have, Scott.
I made myself a nice little killing.
Subtitles by ITFC