Sister Boniface Mysteries (2022–…): Season 1, Episode 10 - Crimes and Miss Demeanours - full transcript
Arriving
at Slaughter Abbey
in the Cotswolds,
their home from home
for the next few days,
a bevvy of beauties
from all four corners
of the kingdom,
united for the Miss
United Britain contest.
Every gorgeous girl
has their sights set
on being named the
nation's supreme poppet.
First off were this
year's front runners,
Miss Walton-on-Thames,
Diane Green.
Miss Belfast, Clodagh Kilpatrick
is current holder of
the Miss Swimsuit title.
Miss Cardiff, Sally Ann Jones,
oh, she looks happy to be here,
but not as happy as
those photographers.
Last but not least, Miss
Glasgow, Moira McDonald.
This is only her second
contest, begging the question,
where has she been hiding?
There to greet them
was Lesley Canon,
nicknamed the Beauty King
all in the line of duty,
but what man doesn't
envy his job?
The lineup of the lovelies,
a dozen pretty hopefuls,
but no hint of
competitive spirit here.
It looks like they're already
becoming firm friends.
I said to him, you can
ask me as many times as-
Do you think she ran it up
at home on a sewing machine?
And what are you
looking for in a contestant?
Well, single, childless,
five six to five nine,
waist, 22 to 24
inches, hips, 35 to 36,
36 to 37 inch bust, perfectly
shaped legs, no flabby thighs,
good skin, teeth and
hair, chest out, Glasgow,
flaunt what Mother
Nature gave you.
I'd ask Mother Nature
for my money back.
I suppose some
rivalry is inevitable?
Well, put a dozen
goddesses together,
throw in a golden apple,
what do you think?
Quite.
May I have a few photographs
and perhaps a few words
from the three favourites?
Yeah, be my guest.
So aside from your
ambition to um, ah,
"Further the cause of
international friendship,"
why do you think you'll win?
Take two guesses.
Right.
As an airline stewardess, I've
already travelled the world
and I'm comfortable mixing
with the right sort.
Hm.
- It's not just looks.
Don't write this down, mind,
but I've met ironing boards
with more personality
than some of these.
And how would you
answer the charge,
that it's demeaning to women?
The winner will act as
ambassadress for the nation,
most go on to be
actresses or models,
what's degrading about that?
They're jealous.
I'll tell you what's demeaning,
being tied to a kitchen sink
with a brood of ankle biters,
3000 pounds buys a woman
a lot of independence.
I can't disagree with that.
Lovely.
That's it, alright,
room for everybody.
- Come on, girls,
you're on in 48 hours,
you're like spuds in a sack.
Come on, fall in,
numerical order.
Let's get the music
on please, darling.
Where's Belfast,
anyone seen Belfast?
Go and see where she's
got to, will you?
He said numerical order, but
you can't even count to 10?
Alright, come on, girls,
this is a beauty contest,
- shoulders back, hips forward.
Her wristwatch stopped
at 9:05 p.m. last night,
so we can assume that's
when she hit the water,
if not time of death.
Right, did no one
notice she was missing?
The contestants
had a rest morning,
so no one noticed, until
just before we found her,
she must've fallen in,
apparently she couldn't swim,
which is ironic considering
she's, or was Miss Swimsuit.
Yes, thank you, Mr. Canon,
we can take it from here.
No
indication of a sexual motive.
Her clothes are undisturbed
and no sign of fight or flight.
What have you got there?
Hairs caught in the strap,
female I deduce by the length
and black, so they don't
belong to the victim.
Pulled out with force judging
by traces of blood on the roots.
So is the cause
of death drowning?
Moot at this juncture, can
you help me turn her, Sam?
Sam.
Hm.
Oh.
Look at that.
Cause of death is a strike
to the medulla oblongata,
one blow will kill
you instantly,
it would require some
knowledge of anatomy,
either that or the
killer struck lucky.
- So this is murder?
- Oh, I'm afraid so, yes.
Could you have a stab
at the murder weapon?
Oh, yes, very good,
only that it's about
half an inch in diameter,
it made a penetrating
injury between the occipital
and C1 causing radial splits.
However, it has left,
an oily residue.
Right, well, we should, um...
Cordon the scene, draught
in uniform to do a search,
make a list of everyone in the
house and collate statements.
Exactly.
Do you mind if I
leave you to it,
while I go and break the news?
I mean, it's a tough job,
but someone has to do it.
Um, yes, you might
want to, um...
- Oh, hm.
Sir, CC Lowsely needs
to see you urgently.
I, I...
- Fine.
We have a political hot potato.
The Miss World competition
is in three months
and the host nation
can't be seen to have
a random beauty queen
killer on the loose.
There's no evidence
of that yet, sir.
There are no reports
of any intruders,
although we are yet to
speak to the security guard.
Hm, well, that may be,
but la grande fromage
have ordered a press embargo
and the Met are
sending an officer
to oversee our investigation.
- Scotland Yard?
- What the hell?
Yes, I thought
you'd be pleased.
So, you know the plan?
Roll out the red carpet,
welcome him with open arms,
full cooperation and
I expect nothing less
than maximum effort.
Sir.
And last but not least,
make bloody sure he doesn't
solve the case first, capiche?
- Sir.
I will try and
extract the materials
from the wound residue,
it may shed some light
on the murder weapon.
The victim was seen
leaving the dinner at 8:35,
it leaves us a murder
window of 13 minutes.
Eight without alibis,
one of the chaperones,
Lesley Canon and
six contestants.
Oh, keep your shirt on,
I'm embargoed, remember?
I thought you might
appreciate some background.
Perfect timing, what do you
know about the dead girl?
Brassiere model from Coleraine.
- Hm.
- Oh, steady, tiger.
One or three favourites along
with Miss Walton-on-Thames
and Miss Cardiff, so if
you're looking for a motive,
well, their chances of winning
have just increased by a third.
Is a beauty title really
worth killing over?
I'd say so, 3000
pounds, a sports car
- and entry into Miss World.
- Hm.
You know the words, a
passport to fame and fortune.
Well, Miss Walton-on-Thames
has black hair
and there are...
Two more with black hair
that don't have alibis.
Right, so tomorrow
we take hair samples
and show this plod
from Scotland Yard,
that we don't need him.
DCI Clifford Winner, he's the
youngest officer in the Met
to make DCI, his arrest
record is legendary.
- Query intruder.
Rustle up some teas,
will you, darling?
Don't forget the biscuits.
Thank you, WPC Button.
Did you
get a statement
- from the security guard?
- No, not yet,
he was off sick yesterday,
but we'll get one today.
Morning, DI Sam Gillespie.
DCI Clifford Winner.
Mrs. Clam missed
you at breakfast.
Egg, if I'm not mistaken?
Hm.
I came in early to
write up the reports.
In my book, early's on
time, on time is late
and late is unacceptable.
So, should we get on?
Option one, an intruder, option
two, it was an inside job.
We'll be taking hair samples
to try and match those
found on the body.
This was a brutal attack,
this is more than just
tantrums and tiaras.
What we need is a murder weapon.
I'm examining residues
from the wounds
to see if that sheds
light, oh, Sister Boniface,
police scientific advisor and
you, I deduce are DCI Winner?
I was at the Post Office
and you forgot your lunch,
Mrs. Clam would
have brought them,
but she has a first day
cover of native songbirds
and is expecting a veritable
stampede of twitchers.
Couldn't you have given
them to the poor and needy?
It seemed uncharitable
to add to their burden.
Well, thank you, Sister.
I'll let you know when and
if I require your services.
Yes, right.
Toodle-oo.
Well, I heard rumours
about the place,
but this takes the Garibaldi.
And then there's option three,
which I'm amazed has escaped
you, this security guard,
who conveniently went AWOL
the day after the murder.
He's a local man,
he's not a suspect.
Let me be the judge of that.
I'll leave you to
play hairdresser,
- while I go and talk to him.
- Would you like me
- to come with you, sir?
- Good lad.
We may need WPC Button
to come with us.
What do we want her for?
He patrolled the
ground once an hour
- and didn't see anyone.
Dog.
Did you see Miss Belfast, Tom?
No.
What did he say?
Well, he may be a Tom,
but he's no peeper,
he'd seen enough and
got on with his rounds.
Take a statement,
preferably in English.
Local dialect, sir, you get
used to it or so I'm told.
Oh, you clearly don't
hail from these parts?
I'm on secondment from
the Bermuda Police.
My placement was supposed
to be at Scotland Yard.
Then how the hell did you end up
in this Godforsaken backwater?
I put it down to a series
of unfortunate events.
Hm.
Actually, sir, um,
I still hope to
get there one day.
Impress me and maybe you will.
Right, let's see
what the Beauty King
has to say for himself.
I sincerely hope
I'm not a suspect?
Purely for purposes
of elimination.
Did you know Clodagh well?
We'd been competing
together for years.
She was a consummate
professional,
never a hair out of place.
I wonder.
Leonardo of
Mayfair does mine,
if it's ruined, there'll
be merry hell to pay.
Watch out, greenhorn.
They don't think
I should be here.
I was runner up in Miss Glasgow
and she got herself up the
duff, so here am I by default.
Why the sudden urge to
enter a beauty contest?
I reckoned I had more chance
of winning than the Pools.
My dad lost his job
and we've eight mouths
to feed on my wages.
One of the girls at the
factory entered Miss Glasgow
and I thought if
she can, why not me?
Why not indeed, I'll
say a prayer for you.
Thanks, Sister, but I think
I probably need a miracle.
Right, that's all of them.
Should we get them
back to the lab?
Yes, but first a detour
via the victim's room.
But you've already searched it.
So were you dropped
on the head as a baby?
You think I'd be stupid
enough to have an affair
with one of my contestants?
I imagine you get
plenty of offers.
I'm ringmaster training these
girls for a performance,
a bunch of highly strung
performers, I might add,
so I threaten, I cajole
and I advise them.
One step beyond the
platonic, I'd be finished.
Then how do you explain
what the security guard saw?
Why don't you ask
the lady in question?
- Come back in the morning.
Please,
Mr. Canon, three minutes.
You've got two.
Why would a girl
as neat as a pin
leave her drawers in disarray?
What, do you think
someone got here first?
The question is did they find
what they were looking for?
Hello.
It got blown to the back,
so partially burned,
a card judging by the thickness.
Why burn it rather than
throw it in the bin?
Well, what's written
inside may tell us more.
- Burnt to a crisp.
Oh, you'd be amazed at
the restorative powers
- of a chloral hydrate bath.
- Hm.
Do you know who did it?
Everyone's saying some
nutter got into the grounds.
We can't speculate on
that at the moment.
Were you friends?
No one could call us
that after Miss Swimsuit,
she tripped me on the catwalk,
flat on my face in
front of the judges,
claimed it was an accident,
but everyone knew
what she was like.
What was she like?
Well, let's just
say she wouldn't win
a Miss Popularity contest, not
that I'd wish her dead, mind.
Thank you for your frankness.
You're welcome.
You need anything
else, just let me know.
Has anyone said, you look
just like Sean Connery?
What?
So what happened last night?
Just tell them the truth.
I needed to talk to Mr. Canon.
Ah, leave
the door open.
- I'm as pretty as them.
- Yeah.
I can smile and walk
in a straight line.
So what do you
have to do to win?
Come here, turn around.
Here.
It's your hair, dated, makes
you look like Doris Day.
Whereas this year's judges
want Brigitte Bardot.
Go on, get lost, close
the door, will you?
And then what?
Then I went back to my room.
So if there's nothing else,
we've a beauty
contest to put on.
Come on.
You believe a word of that?
Hairstyling advice, I've never
heard it called that before.
What, you
think they're lying?
I think they had plenty of time
to concoct a story between them
and an affair would topple
the Beauty King's empire.
- What about Miss Cardiff?
Doesn't have an alibi.
Certainly no love lost
between her and the victim.
I think I found something, sir.
Sister Boniface thinks
that the killer blow
may have indicated a
knowledge of anatomy.
Lesley Canon's
background checks,
he served in the Royal Army
Medical Corps during the war.
Did he now?
Yes.
Do some digging into the
Beauty King's army record.
Nice work, sir.
Help me crack this and that
secondment's in the bag.
Something you haven't told me?
Ah, no, it's not
what it looks like.
He only offered to put in
a good word, that's all.
Don't tell me we're not
good enough for you.
Of course not, but
I did come here
to learn from the cutting
edge of modern policing
and I feel there's
more for me to learn.
I'd better get onto
those army records.
I am not being left on my own
to the mercies of Mrs. Clam.
If DCI Winner solves this case,
Felix will be on the first
train back to London.
How long will this take?
Longer with you
ranting at my shoulder.
Cutting edge of modern policing,
I'll give him cutting edge.
What's cutting edge about
ruddy rules and regulations?
We have a match.
Your hairs were found entangled
in the victim's watch,
can you explain
how they got there?
I imagine because
she attacked me
on the, well, on
the day she died.
You know the rules.
Any more silly beggars and
you'll be disqualified,
you got that?
The same goes for
the rest of you.
Mr. Canon!
It was you that told.
Are you that scared
that I'm going to win?
Scared of you?
I'm not the one who
needs upholstering.
- I haven't finished with you.
- Now you've done it!
Pack it in!
Not the face, hey,
I said not the face!
What are you playing at?
All that over bone swimwear?
It reduces the waist and
accentuates the bust.
Everyone bends the
rules a little,
but she was a sneaky Betty,
always going through our things
looking for rule breakers.
I wasn't the only
one by any means.
Can I go now?
- I've got a rehearsal.
- Hm.
Miss Grimsby's vital
statistics are 38, 25, 36.
About time, garland's
going up next.
Miss Grimsby also has
a set of her own teeth,
although you wouldn't know it.
Better, number
five, Miss Glasgow.
Bit more of a head
toss on the walk,
try it on the stairs
as you come up.
Lovely stuff, see, that
makes all the difference,
starting to look
like a winner now.
It seems Miss
Belfast was a snoop.
Maybe she found something and
decided to turn blackmailer.
Your timing couldn't
be more fortuitous.
Oh?
Our mysteriously
burnt card perhaps.
The chloral hydrate treatment
clarified the letters,
but no, they're too
faint to make out.
If it's either ink or pencil,
infrared photography
may be more efficacious,
that's the bad news.
The good news is I think I've
identified the murder weapon.
Ah-ha!
Oh, yes, Ruth, thank
you for coming.
I'm intrigued to know the
reason for my summons.
That makes two of us.
Well, Miss Penny's
presence is pertinent
for prop purposes, the wound
residue is a mixture of wax,
naphtha, turpentine, dye,
lanolin and gum Arabic,
- shoe polish.
- Ah.
Black shoe polish,
to be precise.
- May I?
- Wha-
Just one
will suffice, yes, thank you.
Right.
Well, I'll have you know
those are Claude Chang
and cost 40 guineas.
My entire wardrobe
cost less than that.
Yes, that had been noted.
Courtesy of Mr. Button, pig
skin being remarkably similar
in composition to
human skin, observe.
Oh, hell's bells.
- Sister, no!
Behold, the murder weapon
has been under our noses
all this time or rather
on someone's foot.
Oh, um, I'll just
dab that for you.
As good as new, almost.
Death by stiletto, you angel,
which means that Scotland Yard
have been on the wrong
foot with Lesley Canon.
Yes, very good, yes,
without a leg to stand on.
Though it does rather point
to a female perpetrator.
Hm, the question is
where did they dispose
of the murder weapon?
Oh no, no self-respecting
female would willingly
dispose of a pair of
designer stilettos, nope.
I'd wager she's
still wearing them.
Ah, we need to look
at all the shoes
of all the girls without alibis.
Initial indications suggest
it may have been used to
wipe the murder weapon,
which apropos has been
identified as a black stiletto.
A shoe, are you sure?
99.8%.
Good work, Sister.
That's a first,
albeit a bit late
now I've nabbed our culprit.
This was found yards
from the crime scene.
- Who searched the area?
- Me, sir,
it wasn't there or
I'd have seen it.
Captain of the Ladies
Junior Darts Team
without the aid of
ocular assistance.
WPC Button is very
reliable, sir.
Which raises the possibility,
that it could have been planted.
I prefer the possibility
that you're making excuses
for your officer's cockup.
You realise how much
time you've wasted,
because of your incompetence?
If it was down to me, this
would be a disciplinary matter.
I'll get these back
to the lab for tests.
And that, gentlemen,
is why they shouldn't let
women join the police.
See if Miss Glasgow's got
a pair of black stilettos
- and bag it as evidence.
- And also all the shoes
of all the contestants
without alibis.
Did I say that?
Until we've heard what
the suspect has to say,
I don't want you wasting
any more of my time
and that's an order.
Silly girl, actually starting
to believe she could win it.
It's not "Sunday Night
at the Palladium," girls,
come on, let's get back inside.
Come on, inside, shoo, let's go.
You were given a direct order.
From CC Lowsley,
"Don't let Scotland Yard
solve the case first."
Perhaps that has
clouded your judgement.
Peggy would never miss
that sash, you know that
and talking of clouded
judgement, how-
How about your vested interest
in helping Scotland
Yard solve this case?
Can't you see, he's a man who's
all mouth and no trousers?
He is a man I would emulate.
Ah, and there was I thinking
we made a good team.
- I didn't mean.
We do, apart from your blatant
disregard of the rule book.
I don't give a flying
fig about the rule.
No, but I do.
Are you gonna grass me up?
Of course not.
Right, well, I'll take these
and we'll see what Sister
Boniface has to say.
I'm afraid traces of shoe
polish and brain tissue
leave no doubt the sash was used
to wipe the murder weapon clean.
It's all a little convenient.
I'll eat my hat, if
it wasn't planted.
That would be more digestible
than Mrs. Clam's cooking.
Hm.
Right, let's see if these
shoes have a tale to tell.
- Lights, please.
- Yeah.
Well, luckily for
your digestive tract,
no signs of blood
on Miss Glasgow's,
or any of them for that matter,
these girls maintain their
footwear with military precision,
spit and polish,
unfortunately for us.
Well, that's that then.
Well, the polish may
have created a barrier,
I'll scrape it off and see
if it reveals anything.
I'd better get this back.
I can already imagine the
look on his smug face.
Aye, that's mine, but I lost it,
after rehearsal on Wednesday.
One of the others
pinched it probably.
Are they in the habit of that?
They are with me.
When did you meet Lesley Canon?
At Miss Glasgow.
Your first competition,
when you came runner
up, pretty impressive.
Are you sure you didn't
get a little leg up
from the contest organiser?
Or should that be a leg over?
He's older than my granddad?
You wouldn't be the
first to shut her eyes
and think of England or in
this case, Miss United Britain.
In your dreams.
Did Miss Belfast found out
and threaten to spill the beans?
That would've been the
end of your competition.
I'd like to see you prove it.
There's no results
from the shoes as yet,
but Sister Boniface
has confirmed,
that this was used to
clean the murder weapon.
Looks like we just did.
I'll leave you to
charge her at least,
while I deliver the good
news to the Commissioner.
I didn't do it.
Off the record, I believe you.
They can't put me in the
jail, I-I've a family to feed.
I won't let it come to
that, you have my word.
The powers that be
are jumping for joy
at such a timely result.
She hasn't confessed.
She will,
copper's nose,
I can smell guilt
and she reeked of it.
I get it, no one likes someone
else stealing their thunder,
but the Met's motto is
we lead, others follow.
Talking of which, are you
set up for that transfer?
Yes, that is to say,
thank you, thank you, sir.
Congratulations, it's
what you always wanted.
I'm on the VIP table
tonight, join me
and I'll give you the
low down on my firm.
You can't go, Sarge,
there'll be no one to
organise the systems.
I couldn't stay forever, Peggy.
Look, I'll write and
you can come visit.
You always wanted to
see the Crown Jewels,
we can go sightseeing together.
My dad went to London once,
didn't see a single
smile all day.
Yeah, Gillespie.
- I'll be right there.
Where are you going?
Just security for tonight.
Automatic disqualification
and the end of her career
as a beauty queen.
You have answered
my prayers, Sister
or at least half a prayer.
It won't be enough for Winner,
we need some hard evidence.
Now there's nothing
under the polish,
but fact, if this is
the murder weapon,
then Locard's
principle will prevail
and there will be an exchange.
- Lights.
- Yeah.
- Infuriating.
I never called it a
principle, you know,
or used the word, exchange.
Well, it seems to have caught
on and as a catchphrase,
you'll have to admit, it does
have a certain ring to it.
What has?
Monsieur Trace is
shy and microscopic
and though he likes
to conceal himself,
eventually he must emerge
blinking into the light.
Try beneath the leather.
Roger that.
Roger what?
So, you have read my tract?
You could say it's
my second "Bible."
Are you talking
to yourself again?
I was not sure about
my volume five.
Do you think I started
to repeat myself?
Well, you did go on a bit,
but personally I enjoyed it.
Lights.
- Bingo!
Got her.
And we are live from the
grounds of Slaughter Abbey,
where in one hour, 11
eye-riveting glamorettes
will vie to become
Miss United Britain.
And with the enviable task
of selecting the winners,
this year's judges,
actor Rex Cooper!
Racing driver, Harry Gumble
and comedian, Terry Pepper.
Terry's got something
to laugh about.
But before the eye-popping
bevvy of beauties,
we have live music from
the Bello Brothers.
Could I have a word, please?
It's mine, but one of the
others must've taken it.
There were plenty didn't
like her apart from me.
You were in the exercise room
between eight and nine p.m.
The route back took you
passed the swimming pool.
You're saying I killed
her over a stupid contest.
That's the game, you
win some, you lose some,
there's always a next time.
Not for you,
Clodagh's snooping reaped
dividends on this occasion,
enough to get you
disqualified for life.
It's burnt, you can't read that.
No, but we can read
an infrared photograph
"From Carys,
."
Happy birthday, Mummy.
I didn't mean to kill her.
Whose
been a naughty girl?
What are you
gonna snitch on me for?
I'll give you, the kid
didn't ruin your figure.
Nice card,
Mum.
I was only 15 when I had her.
She was so beautiful
and she was mine,
I just couldn't give her up.
You'd have done the
same thing in my shoes.
Hardly, unlike you, I'm
still freshly packaged.
I'm begging you,
don't say anything,
not for me, but for her,
her name's Carys and she-
I couldn't give a monkey's
for your little mistake.
You're finished.
Once they find out,
you'll be Miss Nobody.
An unlucky blow indeed.
You wiped your shoe on
Miss Glasgow's sash.
I found it by the pool.
So you planted it,
surely that was risky?
I heard you talking.
Burnt to a crisp.
You'd be amazed
at the restorative powers
of a chloral hydrate bath.
Do you
know who did it?
You knew we were getting close,
so you framed an innocent
woman for murder.
It was her or Carys,
what chance would she have
with a mother in prison?
All I wanted was for her to
have a better future than mine,
for her to be able
to succeed without,
without taking her clothes
off and getting leered at.
I did it for my daughter.
Sally Ann Jones,
I'm arresting you
for the murder of
Clodagh Kilpatrick.
You do not have to say anything,
but anything you do say
may be written down
and given in evidence.
And you couldn't ask for a
field of shapelier fillies,
than those coming
under starters orders
for this year's Miss
United Britain stakes,
a veritable cornucopia
of beauties.
And for the moment all
the men in the audience
have been waiting for,
the best of the peaches
from the beaches,
it's the Swimwear Round.
Now for the facts and figures.
Airline stewardess,
Miss Walton-on-Thames,
- 36, 24, 36.
Certainly the hostess
with the mostest.
Miss Newcastle is a
bookkeeper from South Shields,
who would think it,
brains and beauty.
And from the look on
the judges' faces,
they can put two
and two together.
Number two, Miss
Cardiff, Sally Ann Jo,
sorry, that's number five,
Miss Glasgow, Moira McDonald,
- 37, 24, 35.
Five feet 10 of
Caledonian cutie.
Miss Weston-super-Mare
is a secretary,
she can take down my
dictation anytime.
You'd better have
a good explanation
or you'll be spending the
remainder of your career
directing traffic.
She confessed.
Well done, Inspector.
I had a feeling that you'd
score a last minute goal.
I'm not sure what you've
been led to believe,
but I was fully appraised at
all stages of the investigation
and your men were acting
under my instructions,
as DS Livingstone can confirm.
I'm sure I can count
on you to back me up.
That's not necessary,
DCI Winner is correct.
I'll tell you about
it later, sir.
Oh, I can't wait.
I'm glad you see things my
way, because we're off tonight.
Tonight, I thought
this would take weeks?
Big job just landed
and they need manpower.
So give you half an hour
to pack up your things
and I'll see you at the station.
Yes, sir.
I suppose this is goodbye.
Merely adieu.
Now you will come
back and visit us?
Of course, Sister and I'll
wear gloves at crime scenes
and I will send Peggy a
postcard from all of the sights
and I will telephone
before nine.
Scotland Yard are
lucky to have you.
I will never forget
Great Slaughter.
I can say hand on heart,
this has been an
education and a privilege.
Right, you'd better go and
break the news to Mrs. Clam.
There's a conversation
I don't envy.
There's no need for
you to come, Mrs. Clam.
Nonsense, someone
had to see you off.
You don't get fresh
game where you're going.
- Thank you.
- Sandwiches for the journey,
I made your favourite,
at least I couldn't
remember what it was,
so I made egg and cress.
Thank you, Miss Thimble.
- No sharing.
- Thank you, Tom.
Oh, bye, Sarge.
Oh, if you're still on
for the Crown Jewels,
I reckon I can brave
a trip to London.
You don't let her out
of your sight, mind,
she'd be an innocent dove
amongst a flock of vultures.
Aye.
- Two innocent doves.
I will write.
You'll do more
than that, I hope.
There's always a room
for you at the Sea View.
- Are we off then?
- Oh, right, yeah.
Bye, Sarge.
- Up that Smoke there.
- Thank you, sir.
- Goodbye.
- Take care of yourself.
- Bye.
Bright lad like
you deserves better
than a bunch of amateur yokels.
They're good people
and they welcomed me,
when I was a stranger.
Your DI's a maverick
sheriff in a one-horse town
and don't get me
started on the nun.
Actually sir, even though our
methods may be unorthodox,
we do have the highest
cleanup rate in the county.
We? Sounds like
you've gone native.
Looks like I'm getting you
out not a moment too soon.
What are you waiting
for? Chop chop.
And now we resume live
from Miss United Britain,
where our seven remaining
eye-riveting glamorettes
await the judges' decision.
In reverse order, third place,
Miss Birmingham.
In second place,
Miss Newcastle.
And the winner of this year's
Miss United Britain is,
Miss Glasgow.
Well, one prayer at
least has been answered.
The comfort of having a
friend may be taken away,
but not that of having had one.
To Felix, a fine officer
and an even finer friend.
- Hear, hear.
- Sorely missed.
- Hear, hear!
- To Felix.
- Dr. Livingstone.
- To Felix.
- To Felix.
- Aye.
- To Felix.
The usual, please George.
- You forget something?
Apart from my integrity?
Ah, I understood.
DCI Winner would
not have understood.
He's not someone I can look up
to, nevermind call a friend.
- You mean?
He's staying!
Who is?
Sergeant Livingstone
has come to his senses.
Oh, welcome home, Sarge.
Mistress Mumsy!
So, what do you say then, lad?
Ah, thank you, Tom.
- Yeah!
You do realise you
just volunteered
to be next year's
Mistress Flumsy?
Yes, she or rather, he leads
the annual Mummers Parade
in town, while being
flagellated with twigs.
Oh, but don't worry, the
flagellation's purely symbolic.
It's a great honour.
Hold the front page.
I think he's pleased.
at Slaughter Abbey
in the Cotswolds,
their home from home
for the next few days,
a bevvy of beauties
from all four corners
of the kingdom,
united for the Miss
United Britain contest.
Every gorgeous girl
has their sights set
on being named the
nation's supreme poppet.
First off were this
year's front runners,
Miss Walton-on-Thames,
Diane Green.
Miss Belfast, Clodagh Kilpatrick
is current holder of
the Miss Swimsuit title.
Miss Cardiff, Sally Ann Jones,
oh, she looks happy to be here,
but not as happy as
those photographers.
Last but not least, Miss
Glasgow, Moira McDonald.
This is only her second
contest, begging the question,
where has she been hiding?
There to greet them
was Lesley Canon,
nicknamed the Beauty King
all in the line of duty,
but what man doesn't
envy his job?
The lineup of the lovelies,
a dozen pretty hopefuls,
but no hint of
competitive spirit here.
It looks like they're already
becoming firm friends.
I said to him, you can
ask me as many times as-
Do you think she ran it up
at home on a sewing machine?
And what are you
looking for in a contestant?
Well, single, childless,
five six to five nine,
waist, 22 to 24
inches, hips, 35 to 36,
36 to 37 inch bust, perfectly
shaped legs, no flabby thighs,
good skin, teeth and
hair, chest out, Glasgow,
flaunt what Mother
Nature gave you.
I'd ask Mother Nature
for my money back.
I suppose some
rivalry is inevitable?
Well, put a dozen
goddesses together,
throw in a golden apple,
what do you think?
Quite.
May I have a few photographs
and perhaps a few words
from the three favourites?
Yeah, be my guest.
So aside from your
ambition to um, ah,
"Further the cause of
international friendship,"
why do you think you'll win?
Take two guesses.
Right.
As an airline stewardess, I've
already travelled the world
and I'm comfortable mixing
with the right sort.
Hm.
- It's not just looks.
Don't write this down, mind,
but I've met ironing boards
with more personality
than some of these.
And how would you
answer the charge,
that it's demeaning to women?
The winner will act as
ambassadress for the nation,
most go on to be
actresses or models,
what's degrading about that?
They're jealous.
I'll tell you what's demeaning,
being tied to a kitchen sink
with a brood of ankle biters,
3000 pounds buys a woman
a lot of independence.
I can't disagree with that.
Lovely.
That's it, alright,
room for everybody.
- Come on, girls,
you're on in 48 hours,
you're like spuds in a sack.
Come on, fall in,
numerical order.
Let's get the music
on please, darling.
Where's Belfast,
anyone seen Belfast?
Go and see where she's
got to, will you?
He said numerical order, but
you can't even count to 10?
Alright, come on, girls,
this is a beauty contest,
- shoulders back, hips forward.
Her wristwatch stopped
at 9:05 p.m. last night,
so we can assume that's
when she hit the water,
if not time of death.
Right, did no one
notice she was missing?
The contestants
had a rest morning,
so no one noticed, until
just before we found her,
she must've fallen in,
apparently she couldn't swim,
which is ironic considering
she's, or was Miss Swimsuit.
Yes, thank you, Mr. Canon,
we can take it from here.
No
indication of a sexual motive.
Her clothes are undisturbed
and no sign of fight or flight.
What have you got there?
Hairs caught in the strap,
female I deduce by the length
and black, so they don't
belong to the victim.
Pulled out with force judging
by traces of blood on the roots.
So is the cause
of death drowning?
Moot at this juncture, can
you help me turn her, Sam?
Sam.
Hm.
Oh.
Look at that.
Cause of death is a strike
to the medulla oblongata,
one blow will kill
you instantly,
it would require some
knowledge of anatomy,
either that or the
killer struck lucky.
- So this is murder?
- Oh, I'm afraid so, yes.
Could you have a stab
at the murder weapon?
Oh, yes, very good,
only that it's about
half an inch in diameter,
it made a penetrating
injury between the occipital
and C1 causing radial splits.
However, it has left,
an oily residue.
Right, well, we should, um...
Cordon the scene, draught
in uniform to do a search,
make a list of everyone in the
house and collate statements.
Exactly.
Do you mind if I
leave you to it,
while I go and break the news?
I mean, it's a tough job,
but someone has to do it.
Um, yes, you might
want to, um...
- Oh, hm.
Sir, CC Lowsely needs
to see you urgently.
I, I...
- Fine.
We have a political hot potato.
The Miss World competition
is in three months
and the host nation
can't be seen to have
a random beauty queen
killer on the loose.
There's no evidence
of that yet, sir.
There are no reports
of any intruders,
although we are yet to
speak to the security guard.
Hm, well, that may be,
but la grande fromage
have ordered a press embargo
and the Met are
sending an officer
to oversee our investigation.
- Scotland Yard?
- What the hell?
Yes, I thought
you'd be pleased.
So, you know the plan?
Roll out the red carpet,
welcome him with open arms,
full cooperation and
I expect nothing less
than maximum effort.
Sir.
And last but not least,
make bloody sure he doesn't
solve the case first, capiche?
- Sir.
I will try and
extract the materials
from the wound residue,
it may shed some light
on the murder weapon.
The victim was seen
leaving the dinner at 8:35,
it leaves us a murder
window of 13 minutes.
Eight without alibis,
one of the chaperones,
Lesley Canon and
six contestants.
Oh, keep your shirt on,
I'm embargoed, remember?
I thought you might
appreciate some background.
Perfect timing, what do you
know about the dead girl?
Brassiere model from Coleraine.
- Hm.
- Oh, steady, tiger.
One or three favourites along
with Miss Walton-on-Thames
and Miss Cardiff, so if
you're looking for a motive,
well, their chances of winning
have just increased by a third.
Is a beauty title really
worth killing over?
I'd say so, 3000
pounds, a sports car
- and entry into Miss World.
- Hm.
You know the words, a
passport to fame and fortune.
Well, Miss Walton-on-Thames
has black hair
and there are...
Two more with black hair
that don't have alibis.
Right, so tomorrow
we take hair samples
and show this plod
from Scotland Yard,
that we don't need him.
DCI Clifford Winner, he's the
youngest officer in the Met
to make DCI, his arrest
record is legendary.
- Query intruder.
Rustle up some teas,
will you, darling?
Don't forget the biscuits.
Thank you, WPC Button.
Did you
get a statement
- from the security guard?
- No, not yet,
he was off sick yesterday,
but we'll get one today.
Morning, DI Sam Gillespie.
DCI Clifford Winner.
Mrs. Clam missed
you at breakfast.
Egg, if I'm not mistaken?
Hm.
I came in early to
write up the reports.
In my book, early's on
time, on time is late
and late is unacceptable.
So, should we get on?
Option one, an intruder, option
two, it was an inside job.
We'll be taking hair samples
to try and match those
found on the body.
This was a brutal attack,
this is more than just
tantrums and tiaras.
What we need is a murder weapon.
I'm examining residues
from the wounds
to see if that sheds
light, oh, Sister Boniface,
police scientific advisor and
you, I deduce are DCI Winner?
I was at the Post Office
and you forgot your lunch,
Mrs. Clam would
have brought them,
but she has a first day
cover of native songbirds
and is expecting a veritable
stampede of twitchers.
Couldn't you have given
them to the poor and needy?
It seemed uncharitable
to add to their burden.
Well, thank you, Sister.
I'll let you know when and
if I require your services.
Yes, right.
Toodle-oo.
Well, I heard rumours
about the place,
but this takes the Garibaldi.
And then there's option three,
which I'm amazed has escaped
you, this security guard,
who conveniently went AWOL
the day after the murder.
He's a local man,
he's not a suspect.
Let me be the judge of that.
I'll leave you to
play hairdresser,
- while I go and talk to him.
- Would you like me
- to come with you, sir?
- Good lad.
We may need WPC Button
to come with us.
What do we want her for?
He patrolled the
ground once an hour
- and didn't see anyone.
Dog.
Did you see Miss Belfast, Tom?
No.
What did he say?
Well, he may be a Tom,
but he's no peeper,
he'd seen enough and
got on with his rounds.
Take a statement,
preferably in English.
Local dialect, sir, you get
used to it or so I'm told.
Oh, you clearly don't
hail from these parts?
I'm on secondment from
the Bermuda Police.
My placement was supposed
to be at Scotland Yard.
Then how the hell did you end up
in this Godforsaken backwater?
I put it down to a series
of unfortunate events.
Hm.
Actually, sir, um,
I still hope to
get there one day.
Impress me and maybe you will.
Right, let's see
what the Beauty King
has to say for himself.
I sincerely hope
I'm not a suspect?
Purely for purposes
of elimination.
Did you know Clodagh well?
We'd been competing
together for years.
She was a consummate
professional,
never a hair out of place.
I wonder.
Leonardo of
Mayfair does mine,
if it's ruined, there'll
be merry hell to pay.
Watch out, greenhorn.
They don't think
I should be here.
I was runner up in Miss Glasgow
and she got herself up the
duff, so here am I by default.
Why the sudden urge to
enter a beauty contest?
I reckoned I had more chance
of winning than the Pools.
My dad lost his job
and we've eight mouths
to feed on my wages.
One of the girls at the
factory entered Miss Glasgow
and I thought if
she can, why not me?
Why not indeed, I'll
say a prayer for you.
Thanks, Sister, but I think
I probably need a miracle.
Right, that's all of them.
Should we get them
back to the lab?
Yes, but first a detour
via the victim's room.
But you've already searched it.
So were you dropped
on the head as a baby?
You think I'd be stupid
enough to have an affair
with one of my contestants?
I imagine you get
plenty of offers.
I'm ringmaster training these
girls for a performance,
a bunch of highly strung
performers, I might add,
so I threaten, I cajole
and I advise them.
One step beyond the
platonic, I'd be finished.
Then how do you explain
what the security guard saw?
Why don't you ask
the lady in question?
- Come back in the morning.
Please,
Mr. Canon, three minutes.
You've got two.
Why would a girl
as neat as a pin
leave her drawers in disarray?
What, do you think
someone got here first?
The question is did they find
what they were looking for?
Hello.
It got blown to the back,
so partially burned,
a card judging by the thickness.
Why burn it rather than
throw it in the bin?
Well, what's written
inside may tell us more.
- Burnt to a crisp.
Oh, you'd be amazed at
the restorative powers
- of a chloral hydrate bath.
- Hm.
Do you know who did it?
Everyone's saying some
nutter got into the grounds.
We can't speculate on
that at the moment.
Were you friends?
No one could call us
that after Miss Swimsuit,
she tripped me on the catwalk,
flat on my face in
front of the judges,
claimed it was an accident,
but everyone knew
what she was like.
What was she like?
Well, let's just
say she wouldn't win
a Miss Popularity contest, not
that I'd wish her dead, mind.
Thank you for your frankness.
You're welcome.
You need anything
else, just let me know.
Has anyone said, you look
just like Sean Connery?
What?
So what happened last night?
Just tell them the truth.
I needed to talk to Mr. Canon.
Ah, leave
the door open.
- I'm as pretty as them.
- Yeah.
I can smile and walk
in a straight line.
So what do you
have to do to win?
Come here, turn around.
Here.
It's your hair, dated, makes
you look like Doris Day.
Whereas this year's judges
want Brigitte Bardot.
Go on, get lost, close
the door, will you?
And then what?
Then I went back to my room.
So if there's nothing else,
we've a beauty
contest to put on.
Come on.
You believe a word of that?
Hairstyling advice, I've never
heard it called that before.
What, you
think they're lying?
I think they had plenty of time
to concoct a story between them
and an affair would topple
the Beauty King's empire.
- What about Miss Cardiff?
Doesn't have an alibi.
Certainly no love lost
between her and the victim.
I think I found something, sir.
Sister Boniface thinks
that the killer blow
may have indicated a
knowledge of anatomy.
Lesley Canon's
background checks,
he served in the Royal Army
Medical Corps during the war.
Did he now?
Yes.
Do some digging into the
Beauty King's army record.
Nice work, sir.
Help me crack this and that
secondment's in the bag.
Something you haven't told me?
Ah, no, it's not
what it looks like.
He only offered to put in
a good word, that's all.
Don't tell me we're not
good enough for you.
Of course not, but
I did come here
to learn from the cutting
edge of modern policing
and I feel there's
more for me to learn.
I'd better get onto
those army records.
I am not being left on my own
to the mercies of Mrs. Clam.
If DCI Winner solves this case,
Felix will be on the first
train back to London.
How long will this take?
Longer with you
ranting at my shoulder.
Cutting edge of modern policing,
I'll give him cutting edge.
What's cutting edge about
ruddy rules and regulations?
We have a match.
Your hairs were found entangled
in the victim's watch,
can you explain
how they got there?
I imagine because
she attacked me
on the, well, on
the day she died.
You know the rules.
Any more silly beggars and
you'll be disqualified,
you got that?
The same goes for
the rest of you.
Mr. Canon!
It was you that told.
Are you that scared
that I'm going to win?
Scared of you?
I'm not the one who
needs upholstering.
- I haven't finished with you.
- Now you've done it!
Pack it in!
Not the face, hey,
I said not the face!
What are you playing at?
All that over bone swimwear?
It reduces the waist and
accentuates the bust.
Everyone bends the
rules a little,
but she was a sneaky Betty,
always going through our things
looking for rule breakers.
I wasn't the only
one by any means.
Can I go now?
- I've got a rehearsal.
- Hm.
Miss Grimsby's vital
statistics are 38, 25, 36.
About time, garland's
going up next.
Miss Grimsby also has
a set of her own teeth,
although you wouldn't know it.
Better, number
five, Miss Glasgow.
Bit more of a head
toss on the walk,
try it on the stairs
as you come up.
Lovely stuff, see, that
makes all the difference,
starting to look
like a winner now.
It seems Miss
Belfast was a snoop.
Maybe she found something and
decided to turn blackmailer.
Your timing couldn't
be more fortuitous.
Oh?
Our mysteriously
burnt card perhaps.
The chloral hydrate treatment
clarified the letters,
but no, they're too
faint to make out.
If it's either ink or pencil,
infrared photography
may be more efficacious,
that's the bad news.
The good news is I think I've
identified the murder weapon.
Ah-ha!
Oh, yes, Ruth, thank
you for coming.
I'm intrigued to know the
reason for my summons.
That makes two of us.
Well, Miss Penny's
presence is pertinent
for prop purposes, the wound
residue is a mixture of wax,
naphtha, turpentine, dye,
lanolin and gum Arabic,
- shoe polish.
- Ah.
Black shoe polish,
to be precise.
- May I?
- Wha-
Just one
will suffice, yes, thank you.
Right.
Well, I'll have you know
those are Claude Chang
and cost 40 guineas.
My entire wardrobe
cost less than that.
Yes, that had been noted.
Courtesy of Mr. Button, pig
skin being remarkably similar
in composition to
human skin, observe.
Oh, hell's bells.
- Sister, no!
Behold, the murder weapon
has been under our noses
all this time or rather
on someone's foot.
Oh, um, I'll just
dab that for you.
As good as new, almost.
Death by stiletto, you angel,
which means that Scotland Yard
have been on the wrong
foot with Lesley Canon.
Yes, very good, yes,
without a leg to stand on.
Though it does rather point
to a female perpetrator.
Hm, the question is
where did they dispose
of the murder weapon?
Oh no, no self-respecting
female would willingly
dispose of a pair of
designer stilettos, nope.
I'd wager she's
still wearing them.
Ah, we need to look
at all the shoes
of all the girls without alibis.
Initial indications suggest
it may have been used to
wipe the murder weapon,
which apropos has been
identified as a black stiletto.
A shoe, are you sure?
99.8%.
Good work, Sister.
That's a first,
albeit a bit late
now I've nabbed our culprit.
This was found yards
from the crime scene.
- Who searched the area?
- Me, sir,
it wasn't there or
I'd have seen it.
Captain of the Ladies
Junior Darts Team
without the aid of
ocular assistance.
WPC Button is very
reliable, sir.
Which raises the possibility,
that it could have been planted.
I prefer the possibility
that you're making excuses
for your officer's cockup.
You realise how much
time you've wasted,
because of your incompetence?
If it was down to me, this
would be a disciplinary matter.
I'll get these back
to the lab for tests.
And that, gentlemen,
is why they shouldn't let
women join the police.
See if Miss Glasgow's got
a pair of black stilettos
- and bag it as evidence.
- And also all the shoes
of all the contestants
without alibis.
Did I say that?
Until we've heard what
the suspect has to say,
I don't want you wasting
any more of my time
and that's an order.
Silly girl, actually starting
to believe she could win it.
It's not "Sunday Night
at the Palladium," girls,
come on, let's get back inside.
Come on, inside, shoo, let's go.
You were given a direct order.
From CC Lowsley,
"Don't let Scotland Yard
solve the case first."
Perhaps that has
clouded your judgement.
Peggy would never miss
that sash, you know that
and talking of clouded
judgement, how-
How about your vested interest
in helping Scotland
Yard solve this case?
Can't you see, he's a man who's
all mouth and no trousers?
He is a man I would emulate.
Ah, and there was I thinking
we made a good team.
- I didn't mean.
We do, apart from your blatant
disregard of the rule book.
I don't give a flying
fig about the rule.
No, but I do.
Are you gonna grass me up?
Of course not.
Right, well, I'll take these
and we'll see what Sister
Boniface has to say.
I'm afraid traces of shoe
polish and brain tissue
leave no doubt the sash was used
to wipe the murder weapon clean.
It's all a little convenient.
I'll eat my hat, if
it wasn't planted.
That would be more digestible
than Mrs. Clam's cooking.
Hm.
Right, let's see if these
shoes have a tale to tell.
- Lights, please.
- Yeah.
Well, luckily for
your digestive tract,
no signs of blood
on Miss Glasgow's,
or any of them for that matter,
these girls maintain their
footwear with military precision,
spit and polish,
unfortunately for us.
Well, that's that then.
Well, the polish may
have created a barrier,
I'll scrape it off and see
if it reveals anything.
I'd better get this back.
I can already imagine the
look on his smug face.
Aye, that's mine, but I lost it,
after rehearsal on Wednesday.
One of the others
pinched it probably.
Are they in the habit of that?
They are with me.
When did you meet Lesley Canon?
At Miss Glasgow.
Your first competition,
when you came runner
up, pretty impressive.
Are you sure you didn't
get a little leg up
from the contest organiser?
Or should that be a leg over?
He's older than my granddad?
You wouldn't be the
first to shut her eyes
and think of England or in
this case, Miss United Britain.
In your dreams.
Did Miss Belfast found out
and threaten to spill the beans?
That would've been the
end of your competition.
I'd like to see you prove it.
There's no results
from the shoes as yet,
but Sister Boniface
has confirmed,
that this was used to
clean the murder weapon.
Looks like we just did.
I'll leave you to
charge her at least,
while I deliver the good
news to the Commissioner.
I didn't do it.
Off the record, I believe you.
They can't put me in the
jail, I-I've a family to feed.
I won't let it come to
that, you have my word.
The powers that be
are jumping for joy
at such a timely result.
She hasn't confessed.
She will,
copper's nose,
I can smell guilt
and she reeked of it.
I get it, no one likes someone
else stealing their thunder,
but the Met's motto is
we lead, others follow.
Talking of which, are you
set up for that transfer?
Yes, that is to say,
thank you, thank you, sir.
Congratulations, it's
what you always wanted.
I'm on the VIP table
tonight, join me
and I'll give you the
low down on my firm.
You can't go, Sarge,
there'll be no one to
organise the systems.
I couldn't stay forever, Peggy.
Look, I'll write and
you can come visit.
You always wanted to
see the Crown Jewels,
we can go sightseeing together.
My dad went to London once,
didn't see a single
smile all day.
Yeah, Gillespie.
- I'll be right there.
Where are you going?
Just security for tonight.
Automatic disqualification
and the end of her career
as a beauty queen.
You have answered
my prayers, Sister
or at least half a prayer.
It won't be enough for Winner,
we need some hard evidence.
Now there's nothing
under the polish,
but fact, if this is
the murder weapon,
then Locard's
principle will prevail
and there will be an exchange.
- Lights.
- Yeah.
- Infuriating.
I never called it a
principle, you know,
or used the word, exchange.
Well, it seems to have caught
on and as a catchphrase,
you'll have to admit, it does
have a certain ring to it.
What has?
Monsieur Trace is
shy and microscopic
and though he likes
to conceal himself,
eventually he must emerge
blinking into the light.
Try beneath the leather.
Roger that.
Roger what?
So, you have read my tract?
You could say it's
my second "Bible."
Are you talking
to yourself again?
I was not sure about
my volume five.
Do you think I started
to repeat myself?
Well, you did go on a bit,
but personally I enjoyed it.
Lights.
- Bingo!
Got her.
And we are live from the
grounds of Slaughter Abbey,
where in one hour, 11
eye-riveting glamorettes
will vie to become
Miss United Britain.
And with the enviable task
of selecting the winners,
this year's judges,
actor Rex Cooper!
Racing driver, Harry Gumble
and comedian, Terry Pepper.
Terry's got something
to laugh about.
But before the eye-popping
bevvy of beauties,
we have live music from
the Bello Brothers.
Could I have a word, please?
It's mine, but one of the
others must've taken it.
There were plenty didn't
like her apart from me.
You were in the exercise room
between eight and nine p.m.
The route back took you
passed the swimming pool.
You're saying I killed
her over a stupid contest.
That's the game, you
win some, you lose some,
there's always a next time.
Not for you,
Clodagh's snooping reaped
dividends on this occasion,
enough to get you
disqualified for life.
It's burnt, you can't read that.
No, but we can read
an infrared photograph
"From Carys,
."
Happy birthday, Mummy.
I didn't mean to kill her.
Whose
been a naughty girl?
What are you
gonna snitch on me for?
I'll give you, the kid
didn't ruin your figure.
Nice card,
Mum.
I was only 15 when I had her.
She was so beautiful
and she was mine,
I just couldn't give her up.
You'd have done the
same thing in my shoes.
Hardly, unlike you, I'm
still freshly packaged.
I'm begging you,
don't say anything,
not for me, but for her,
her name's Carys and she-
I couldn't give a monkey's
for your little mistake.
You're finished.
Once they find out,
you'll be Miss Nobody.
An unlucky blow indeed.
You wiped your shoe on
Miss Glasgow's sash.
I found it by the pool.
So you planted it,
surely that was risky?
I heard you talking.
Burnt to a crisp.
You'd be amazed
at the restorative powers
of a chloral hydrate bath.
Do you
know who did it?
You knew we were getting close,
so you framed an innocent
woman for murder.
It was her or Carys,
what chance would she have
with a mother in prison?
All I wanted was for her to
have a better future than mine,
for her to be able
to succeed without,
without taking her clothes
off and getting leered at.
I did it for my daughter.
Sally Ann Jones,
I'm arresting you
for the murder of
Clodagh Kilpatrick.
You do not have to say anything,
but anything you do say
may be written down
and given in evidence.
And you couldn't ask for a
field of shapelier fillies,
than those coming
under starters orders
for this year's Miss
United Britain stakes,
a veritable cornucopia
of beauties.
And for the moment all
the men in the audience
have been waiting for,
the best of the peaches
from the beaches,
it's the Swimwear Round.
Now for the facts and figures.
Airline stewardess,
Miss Walton-on-Thames,
- 36, 24, 36.
Certainly the hostess
with the mostest.
Miss Newcastle is a
bookkeeper from South Shields,
who would think it,
brains and beauty.
And from the look on
the judges' faces,
they can put two
and two together.
Number two, Miss
Cardiff, Sally Ann Jo,
sorry, that's number five,
Miss Glasgow, Moira McDonald,
- 37, 24, 35.
Five feet 10 of
Caledonian cutie.
Miss Weston-super-Mare
is a secretary,
she can take down my
dictation anytime.
You'd better have
a good explanation
or you'll be spending the
remainder of your career
directing traffic.
She confessed.
Well done, Inspector.
I had a feeling that you'd
score a last minute goal.
I'm not sure what you've
been led to believe,
but I was fully appraised at
all stages of the investigation
and your men were acting
under my instructions,
as DS Livingstone can confirm.
I'm sure I can count
on you to back me up.
That's not necessary,
DCI Winner is correct.
I'll tell you about
it later, sir.
Oh, I can't wait.
I'm glad you see things my
way, because we're off tonight.
Tonight, I thought
this would take weeks?
Big job just landed
and they need manpower.
So give you half an hour
to pack up your things
and I'll see you at the station.
Yes, sir.
I suppose this is goodbye.
Merely adieu.
Now you will come
back and visit us?
Of course, Sister and I'll
wear gloves at crime scenes
and I will send Peggy a
postcard from all of the sights
and I will telephone
before nine.
Scotland Yard are
lucky to have you.
I will never forget
Great Slaughter.
I can say hand on heart,
this has been an
education and a privilege.
Right, you'd better go and
break the news to Mrs. Clam.
There's a conversation
I don't envy.
There's no need for
you to come, Mrs. Clam.
Nonsense, someone
had to see you off.
You don't get fresh
game where you're going.
- Thank you.
- Sandwiches for the journey,
I made your favourite,
at least I couldn't
remember what it was,
so I made egg and cress.
Thank you, Miss Thimble.
- No sharing.
- Thank you, Tom.
Oh, bye, Sarge.
Oh, if you're still on
for the Crown Jewels,
I reckon I can brave
a trip to London.
You don't let her out
of your sight, mind,
she'd be an innocent dove
amongst a flock of vultures.
Aye.
- Two innocent doves.
I will write.
You'll do more
than that, I hope.
There's always a room
for you at the Sea View.
- Are we off then?
- Oh, right, yeah.
Bye, Sarge.
- Up that Smoke there.
- Thank you, sir.
- Goodbye.
- Take care of yourself.
- Bye.
Bright lad like
you deserves better
than a bunch of amateur yokels.
They're good people
and they welcomed me,
when I was a stranger.
Your DI's a maverick
sheriff in a one-horse town
and don't get me
started on the nun.
Actually sir, even though our
methods may be unorthodox,
we do have the highest
cleanup rate in the county.
We? Sounds like
you've gone native.
Looks like I'm getting you
out not a moment too soon.
What are you waiting
for? Chop chop.
And now we resume live
from Miss United Britain,
where our seven remaining
eye-riveting glamorettes
await the judges' decision.
In reverse order, third place,
Miss Birmingham.
In second place,
Miss Newcastle.
And the winner of this year's
Miss United Britain is,
Miss Glasgow.
Well, one prayer at
least has been answered.
The comfort of having a
friend may be taken away,
but not that of having had one.
To Felix, a fine officer
and an even finer friend.
- Hear, hear.
- Sorely missed.
- Hear, hear!
- To Felix.
- Dr. Livingstone.
- To Felix.
- To Felix.
- Aye.
- To Felix.
The usual, please George.
- You forget something?
Apart from my integrity?
Ah, I understood.
DCI Winner would
not have understood.
He's not someone I can look up
to, nevermind call a friend.
- You mean?
He's staying!
Who is?
Sergeant Livingstone
has come to his senses.
Oh, welcome home, Sarge.
Mistress Mumsy!
So, what do you say then, lad?
Ah, thank you, Tom.
- Yeah!
You do realise you
just volunteered
to be next year's
Mistress Flumsy?
Yes, she or rather, he leads
the annual Mummers Parade
in town, while being
flagellated with twigs.
Oh, but don't worry, the
flagellation's purely symbolic.
It's a great honour.
Hold the front page.
I think he's pleased.