Two.
He's never forgotten my birthday.
Three.
If he's late, he usually has a good excuse.
I'm not always convinced. Does that count?
Four.
He doesn't smoke...
Five.
I haven't finished. He doesn't smoke unless we've had a row.
Then he lights up in the greenhouse.
Call it five for being considerate.
He's stunted my tomatoes.
18 months, 15 plants, nothing.
We'll call it four for being a shite.
Come on, Reenie, 20 good points just to complete the exercise.
No! He's had four more than he deserves.
You're right, you know, I'm wasted on him.
I'm right?
25 years I've given him. And what do I end up with?
Sitting in a clinic with a bloody...
No offence... a bloody shrink with a hangover.
I'm better than this.
Thanks very much, Dr Fitzgerald.
You've opened my mind. You have.
You're a very clever man. I'll never forget it.
Most patients tend to need longer than just the one session.
Oh, no. Best £50 I've ever spent.
Bye.
- How are you feeling? - I'm a bit nervous.
You'll be fine. Everything's going to go like a whistle.
Nena, you look so beautiful, I just want to cry.
Don't. Don't cry.
I'm fine, Janice.
You ready, love?
Yeah.
I'm so proud of you.
I gave you £80 on Friday.
£60, and it was Wednesday.
I paid for the groceries, Saturday.
£10, cigarettes. £22, booze. £16, food.
You paid by Switch and stuck it on the
Done.
You are worth more to me dead than alive, right now, Fitz. Do not joke.
I feel so warm inside at the sudden things you do
The way you close your eyes as I open myself to you
The way you draw a breath as you start to lose control
Talk to me with your body, baby, and it touches my soul
I can't help but adore every little intimacy
Every little detail is another way you thrill me
I can't help but adore every little intimacy
And you make me feel so right
This is pure delight
Caress me with your fingertips
You know it turns me on...
Colin?
Janice!
- There's big lads in there. You missed out.
Piss off!
Take no notice. Have you met Jimmy Cowgill? Best of the bunch.
- Cowey! - I want to talk to you.
- Over here. - I want to talk to you.
- I don't believe that. - You have to, it's true.
- You're a liar. - I'm not.
What are you playing at?
This is today for Christ's sake! What are you playing at?
Do you know what you just said?
I thought you'd want to know.
Why the hell would I want to know that, Janice?
And why the hell would you want to tell me that? On my bloody wedding day!
Cos I like you!
Oh...
You want your friggin head seen to, you do!
I can't. I've had too much to drink.
No, you haven't.
Can't we just leave it?
For God's sake. It's our wedding night!
I'm just drunk.
Right.
Why pay £200 for a crap band?
As head of Entertainments, you...
You're saying we should book your band?
Could do a lot worse.
You'd do that for charity? For free?
- Course not. - Is that the Union do?
£200!
Hey, we're worth it!
We could do a lot better.
Has he got you on commission, Frank?
No.
He's seen us. He knows how good we are.
Know if anybody has got any spare tickets?
Sold out.
Come on, Carol, you've never heard 'em play.
When your parents dropped you off at the start of term,
they weren't afraid of you disappearing out
of their lives for the next three years,
turning up changed, damaged, married, lonely, drunk or drugged.
They didn't care.
They were ecstatic to see the back of your bone-idle arses.
Ecstatic to get the spare room back, after 18, 19 years.
Can you imagine what that feels like?
Of course you can't.
That's why you're here, to find out about
psychology, to find out about life.
This is life.
This morning's post.
A bill from the Gas Board.
£240.
Cut off your penis.
If I don't pay this one, I don't even get to vote.
As my wife consistently reminds me, it really is no career for a grown-up.
Just as I think it's razor blades down Barton Bridge time, I get this.
It's a love letter.
Yes. I don't know her, and she doesn't sign it, but she's in love with me.
And it makes me glow a little.
Young, bright, romantic, colourful.
She's in love with me because she thinks, I quote, that "I am special. "
And I can't help but feel a little special on a day like today.
And then I realise that she's a student. Perhaps even one of you. How?
I'm afraid only psychology students think that psychologists are special.
Now, as a middle-aged man I am entitled
to resent your elite wanky little cliques.
But she shouldn't. She's too young.
But she does, and that's you.
You have isolated her. You have driven her to love someone like me.
This is one passionate woman.
And you cocky little gobshites have missed out.
To those men, I say, "Good luck with your engineering. "
To the author, I say, "Try the nightclubs.
Try animals.
Try anything that isn't a student. "
But, in the words of my wife, "Don't touch what you can't afford. "
You sod. I spent all morning copying
Durkheim and you make that up in the taxi.
No.
I came on the bus.
If you think it's a student, how could you do that to her?
Come on, Irene, if I give her the number for Pastoral Care
she gets two years' group therapy and a crap shrink with no opinions.
She just wants to get laid.
She's got to realise there's life beyond this pantomime.
Well, she trusts you, so two years in group wouldn't be wasted.
Hiya.
This is a Faculty meeting.
Oh, that's lovely. Is it new?
- Fitz. You know Janice, my new lab technician.
How you doing?
Did you mean all that, Fitz, in the lecture?
Kempton Park. Thursday. Roxy's Dilemma. 12-2.
Grow up. Kempton's a right-handed track.
Roxy's never raced right-handed.
- Can I get anybody a drink? - Yeah, large Scotch, please.
- Thursday. It'll beat everything. - You're wrong. It's not.
Trust me.
It doesn't have to have done it before to do it properly.
- You've become a father again. - A boy.
Can't have been planned, surely?
Not by me.
But Judith's happy.
I'm happy. It's just the shock, you know.
Sleepless nights, breast obsession, burping,
farting, house turned upside down.
But the baby's sleeping through?
Like a log.
Place your bets.
Hello.
No, I'm sorry. He's not.
My mistake. He's here now.
Fitzgerald.
Young male. 20s. Didn't die here. He's been dumped. Tyre marks from up there.
- You interviewed the railway worker? - No, sir...
Go and do it.
Go on, give us a mint.
Nail varnish, huh?
Kicked it between six and eight hours ago.
Cardiac arrest, caused probably by the electrocution.
Morning, Fitz.
The power entered the body by the wrists and came out -
had to come out somewhere - down here.
That's the only sign of violence, apart from the head wound caused by this.
He got dumped.
Naked before or after?
Pubic hairs. Not his.
He'd had sex shortly before he died.
Or he's not very hygienic.
Sex and death.
Your favourite.
His too, by the look of him. He's still smiling.
That's risus sardonicus. It's a convulsion.
Feature of electrocution.
So at the end of Angels With Dirty
Faces, the dead Jimmy Cagney was smiling?
That's right.
This was strapped to the ankle.
I Close My Eyes And Count To Ten
No signs of constraint, other than the wrists and ankles.
No sign of violence, other than incidental.
So what have we got?
Consenting sex and bondage.
- A hooker? Well, we didn't find his wallet.
There's a postmortem yet.
No. If the motive was money, the watch would be gone.
All that's missing are his clothes. Why?
Because he was murdered after having sex.
Her calling card, Dusty Springfield.
You all listening to the song?
- Do you think he was gay? - Tell me.
You know. Bondage, earring, tattoos. Works out, very muscular. It's a type.
No. It's a stereotype.
Could have been a gay man or a woman. Whichever, he knew his assailant.
He undressed himself.
He was shackled with care, otherwise there would be bruising.
Why electricity?
Execution.
Powergen broker. Shares take a dive.
Revenge, probably. Sweet, most definitely.
But this is not personal.
The song's an epitaph, but not for this poor bastard.
The body was dumped without dignity.
The killer wants us to know just how unimportant he was.
How are we doing with missing persons?
Nothing to match locally. It might be too early.
You said it was too early for Shergan, last
time I asked. Get them to shift their arses!
And, you, put out a general description.
You been drinking?
Strangely, no.
D'you fancy one?
She's completely obsessed with it.
She's on at me in the morning, when I come home.
Smelling my clothes. Rifling my pockets. Checking my bank stubs.
I don't know where she thinks I get time to go poking around.
She's off her bloody trolley.
Now, she's packed my bags and hoofed me out. It's my bloody mortgage!
- B&Q. - What?
Your last job - that was your nickname.
It never was.
B&Q. DI Wise.
Handyman. Helps himself.
Every career girl's dream.
- I'll tell you something... - The legend followed you here.
I'm the only monogamist I've ever worked with.
Oh, I've had chances, I've had offers.
The more stripes I got, the more offers I got. But, no!
I've always played it straight down the bloody middle till it choked me.
Would you like my professional advice?
I'm not asking you as a married man, am I?
You pay the going rate. £50 an hour.
£50 an hour! On your bike!
That's a call-out charge for a plumber!
We're talking about your marriage!
We sit down and face the facts.
Two columns, 20 spaces each. 20 good points, 20 bad.
That's our starting point.
You'd be amazed the number of people who can't think of 20.
It was you!
Get out!
That's what she said!
- 20 good points and she could only get to four!
Who did?
She did! Reenie bloody Wise!
Oh, shit.
£50 an hour? Up your arse! You're fired!
Go on, sling your hook! Go on, do one.
That's the only regular income you've achieved.
Crime. Regular crime.
It shocks me, it appalls me, but it pays the mortgage.
I must be the only woman who sits up for Crimewatch with a calculator.
Was it my fault I screwed up my benefactor's marriage? No.
All I was doing was trying to earn the M-word.
- We can't afford him unless I go back to work.
Oh, the joy of that!
You were the little miracle that was supposed to save our marriage.
Hmm? What are you now? Three months?
Three months and she's using you like a weapon.
Oh, for God's sakes.
If I let her down, it's OK. She's learned the hard way.
If I let you down, I let an infant down.
It's "How low can you get?"
Huh? Hostage shielding, they call it.
Don't you dare.
Oh, yes.
No, I'm busy.
I can't!
Look, do you wanna ring us back in 10 minutes?
Don't make me laugh.
Are we subbing him for this?
Do you mind?
No wonder we're broke.
A penis extension for a 19-year-old is hardly judicious housekeeping, Judith.
It's Mark's phone. He pays for it.
The boy can hardly string a sentence together and he's got a mobile phone?
- Since when could he afford a mobile? - Since he got a job.
Since he got a job?
Since he started paying board on a regular basis.
With that and Katie's paper
round, we're just about managing, thanks.
With no conscience and your looks, it has to be drug-dealing.
Of course you wouldn't have noticed how depressed he was at not having a job.
How important he's trying to make working in a burger bar sound,
because it feels like the end of the line.
Because it's just Mark, and he's only your
son and you're only a doctor of psychology.
The formative years are the least of your worries.
Fitz?
- Does she write often? - Just the two. First early this week.
All purple prose and romantic bull. And then this.
How do you know she's a student?
Dr Fitzgerald.
She could be a patient.
No, no. You don't get thank-you notes from patients.
You get hate mail for loosening the nuts.
When they're better, once you've made
them better, they'd rather you'd never existed.
Bit like you, Panhandle.
So you've made me better?
Well, I imagine. You don't return the calls.
How is it my fault if you've bumped the car?
Wait!
Reenie, I never taught you to drive because
you wouldn't let me teach you.
Blame Wally the willy, your driving instructor!
I'm sorry, sir, it's Fitz.
- Show him the door. - It's important. It's new stuff.
Look, I've got to go.
No! No, I'm not making it up!
I've got to go!
This better be good.
"I think I love you most because inside we're the same kind of person.
We do ourselves down all the time.
I wish you wouldn't because it upsets me.
You're a good man and you should learn to like yourself.
I know you notice me and pretend not to.
I just wish I could bring you out of yourself, because...
I know we could love each other more than anyone could ever imagine. "
And this is an intelligent woman?
"The man who came round for dinner's not my type at all.
They're all too cocky for my liking.
Two earrings and a ladybird tattoo on his arm.
But he keeps pestering me and saying we're right for each other.
And I've tried saying different.
He's called Steven Lowry. "
Bloody hell.
She's your killer.
- Where's the original? - Here.
So yours are the only other prints on that?
- And mine, sir. - Get that dusted.
Fitz thinks she's one of his students.
No, I said, "a" student. I don't really have students any more.
The letter refers to a lecture I gave last week.
Where?
It was a circuit lecture, used the same material on five gigs.
Salford, Met, Queers, two in Liverpool.
- The postmark's Manchester. - Can we see your notes?
The only notes I make are strictly for the milkman.
Queers University have a student called Steven Lowry.
They confirm that his room hasn't been used since yesterday.
- Why would she kill him? - Them.
Eh?
"They're too cocky for my liking. "
She typed that very
carefully. There wouldn't be any mistake.
Steven Lowry's the first, I'll stick a solid £50 on him not being the last.
Alpine King, medium Coke, fries and
dressing. Enjoy your meal. How can I help?
You haven't moved so fast in 19 years. What
are they selling in the staff canteen?
- Do you want to place an order? - Five minutes.
- To eat. - Oh, er...
Swiss Chicken, Diet Coke and Humble Pie.
What time's your break?
Go up! Up!
Why didn't you talk to me if you were depressed?
- I wasn't depressed. - Your mother says you were depressed.
It's the baby, you feel pushed out.
No - worse - you're the eldest, it's
made you dread your own responsibilities.
The hardship, the rows and the er...
the gut-raking frustration of becoming an adult
with some 10 lb suction pump redefining the world for you.
Yes?
No.
It's not psychologically abnormal, you know.
This is sure-as-shit Ghost of Christmas Future.
Fill in the gaps, Mark. Enjoy yourself.
I got Debbie pregnant.
What, I'm gonna be a... grandfather?
Surely not?
God! Look at me. Look at me.
She lost it.
Oh.
Now you won't believe me if I tell you I'm really sorry.
Who the hell's Debbie? Have I met her?
Good tits. Skinhead.
I think I'd have remembered a Skinhead.
Why didn't you tell me?
You'd have told Mum and she'd have panicked.
She was due to deliver. You'd just buried Gran.
Yeah.
And Debbie blamed you?
Yeah.
- And chucked you? - Yeah.
I am sorry...
about the baby.
I'm also sorry, the last three minutes we've skipped a generation.
Bit of a Star Trek moment for me.
I don't suppose that Wendy hut of yours sells Scotch?
You won't tell Mum?
No. On one condition.
You come for a drink with me.
Tonight?
I'm on lates till Wednesday.
OK, Thursday night. And we talk.
- Yeah. - Yeah? Right.
I know I said enjoy yourself,
but for God's sake put a bit of
double-glazing on the old todger, will you?
I've gotta go.
Hey!
I gobbed on your chicken.
We'd like to speak to anyone with
details of Steven's whereabouts last night.
Dates, nightclubs, social events.
Or any student acting strange, emotionally
disturbed, unusual behaviour.
Well, that's half of them.
Or anything out of the ordinary. We need your help.
Well, that's a bloody nonsense.
I'm sorry, but I object to sending
emotionally disturbed students for interrogation.
You'd bugger them up, send them back. We've got to deal with it.
Dr Fitzgerald has given us reason to believe the killer may strike again.
On what grounds?
Just a strong guess.
He wasn't always unlucky, then.
I'm a mate of Steven's. He's got one of my essays.
Well, had.
Well, the essay's still in there.
Yeah. So?
I need it back or I'm off the course.
Were you two good mates, then?
"Recovered Memory: A Testable Theory?"
You're in Steven's group?
- First year. - Yeah. Do you know me?
Dr Fitzgerald. I've seen you lecture.
Yeah. So, what do you think of me? Am I any good?
Great.
So this quote you've creamed from my
book, "Memory serves fact not interpretation. "
Would you agree with that?
I'd... I'd argue it to a point. But it's...
You know, I've used it so I must agree with it, mustn't I?
You can go.
You're a liar, Frank.
But you're not a killer.
The actual quote is, "Memory only serves its user, not the truth. "
But that's OK. He was brighter than you.
But he's dead. It's no good to him now.
And like you say... You were good mates.
You don't happen to know who he was sleeping with, do you?
How come I'm last to know?
You had a relationship?
Yeah.
Sexual?
Yes.
For how long?
On and off since the start of the course.
We're both doing psychology, and he helped me out when I first got here.
They're not all like that... the clever ones.
Most of them know it and wipe the floor with you.
Steven didn't.
Good brain. Funny.
Everybody liked him.
I was always proud of him.
Proud to be with him.
And everybody said we looked really good together.
When was the last time you and Steven had intercourse, Carol?
Is that relevant?
Is that your own hair colour, Carol?
What?
Oh, my God!
He's been with someone?
And you let me say all that?
He'd been with someone else before he died, hadn't he?
I'm sorry. I really can't go into detail.
Well, you could have been more subtle.
You callous bitch!
I don't know. When is it?
Hi.
Sorry. Just talking to my mum. Erm...
- Hello, Danny. - Hiya. Do you want one?
Yes.
Did Katie tell you Fitz is working?
She did, yes.
They're all so bloody sure of themselves.
At face value, yeah, but...
Most of them are just filling in time between spliffs.
Hence the confidence, the sex.
By the time they leave here, most of them won't even be able to spell orgasm.
This is the first time I've felt this old.
But not as old as... now.
Scary, isn't it?
Too old for sex?
Yes.
No!
It's the post-rape Catch 22.
Sex would make you feel normal.
If you could pull it off.
But you can't even start because you're scared, so you'd have to control it.
Then it wouldn't be
spontaneous, it wouldn't be normal any more.
So the whole primitive shebang is history.
Well, it needn't be. I swear it.
Of course, this is trapeze school for the man with four broken limbs.
The secret is to hang round with the old fat clever guys.
I could make you feel like Zola Budd again.
All you have to do is return the calls.
Look, we... we just talk.
Jane?
I don't love you, Fitz.
I think about you a lot.
I rehearse the things I need to say.
I do want to talk.
But you're wasting your time as far as that's concerned.
I've got that grubby Scouse copper trying to commandeer my office.
I've sent him down to Anthropology. I should have sent him for a shower.
Detective Sergeant Jane Penhaligon, Irene Jackson, Professor of Psychology.
- Hello. - Hello. Excuse me.
£2,000?
The probate lawyers keep tracking down policies.
Ma must have had more underwriters than Lloyd's.
Five grand. Worth four after the death duty and fees.
- That's Eddie's share. - But it's got my name on it.
I could put it in your husband's name if you want to see the back of it.
- But legally? - Legally, it was in my stocking.
You are giving me £2,000?
You married him. You need it more than I do.
I don't know what to say.
Take yourself shopping. Don't say anything.
Buy something blue.
Suits you.
Tell him I called.
Well, at least let me try and return the favour.
I don't know...
Buy you dinner?
I'll see myself out.
- See you, gorgeous. - Bye, Uncle Danny.
Better late than never.
It's nearly bigger than you are!
I can't believe you've done all this!
I thought you said you were gonna take your
time, making your mind up about colours.
You look like you've been in months.
I was expecting you sooner, Janice.
I've been working. It's the end of term. Everybody wants something.
Come to look at the damage?
He told me. He told me what you did.
Look, Nena, he doesn't stand a chance...
You were hoping you'd left a mess behind. Again.
And you were wrong.
Again.
I shouldn't have had to tell him, Nena. You should have told him.
I'm married, you're not. That's really eating you up, isn't it?
I feel sorry for you, Janice. I always have.
But do not bring me or my husband or my marriage into your screwed-up fantasies.
There's no damage, Janice.
Grow up, for God's sakes, and take that with you.
All right? Professor Jackson about?
Meetings all day.
Well, she er... wanted to see me.
She didn't. That was me.
Look, I hope you don't mind me doing this.
Your last essay. She's gonna mark you down.
You're joking.
I heard her talking to your group tutor. She thinks you're slipping.
She'll fail you. I'm only saying cos you were doing really well.
Jesus!
She'd go mad if she knew we were talking.
You understand that?
Yeah.
Judith knows? Yeah.
She knows you were or she knows you are?
She knows I was, she suspects I still am.
And Pentangle?
Penhaligon.
Panhandle.
She was, she now she says isn't...
...but I can't buy that.
Well, no, you'd be a fool to admit it.
So many things got in the way.
Bilborough's murder, the rape...
Beck's suicide was the only highlight.
I spit on that bastard's grave every time his name's mentioned.
None of it had anything to do with us.
None of it was of our doing.
But she's gone and knitted...
She's gone and knitted the full cardigan,
she put the sleeves on it, she's absorbed all the guilt.
She gets the guilt, I get the blame.
And now suddenly sex is on the menu again.
You think she's met someone else?
In the other house, I had a new carpet fitted.
Beautiful carpet, not cheap, transformed the room.
The week after, Clive died.
Two months later, my mother died.
Then the publisher's - not a very good one - turned down my latest book.
There was a very simple solution.
I burnt the carpet and I've never looked back.
Oh, for God's sake, Irene...
You've got Judith, who's forgiven you, three children with bright futures,
and a damn sight more luck than I ever had.
Four decades of social science to sound like Esther bloody Rantzen!
I paid for the takeaway, I say what I like.
Yeah.
My writing, Professor Jackson's notes. I copied them.
Basically, it's once more with feeling.
I don't understand it. I put a stack of
work into this one. It's as clean as a whistle.
If I deserved duff marks, it was for the last one, and that got an A.
Hang on, I copied your last one by
chance. Let's see what she says on there.
Cos she's all over the place.
She can change her mind from one day to the next about what suits her.
She takes some keeping up with.
- I really appreciate all this, you know.
My pleasure.
Be a shame to get in the bad books just because of a few late nights.
Sorry.
I never said anything about late nights.
You've a dodgy reputation.
You bothered to find out.
It gets round.
Mr Wise. I rang about a room. Only I got stuck in work, I'm sorry.
Oh, that's right.
Car OK there? It's blocking your entrance.
Park it in the drive, if you like. I've no other guests at present.
Actually...
Do you take milk with your breakfast?
- Well, on my cornflakes, yeah. - I don't, you see. And I'm out.
The Spar shuts in ten.
I could stick the kettle on.
Right, OK. Yeah.
Thanks.
Stay.
Oh, no, I'd better not, I said I'd meet some mates down the Union.
Janice?
Where the hell are you, you lunatic?
Jesus!
- We're sticking on B minus, then? - I thought I was fantastic.
Yeah? That's a bit of a pattern, isn't it? Now it's my turn. Come on.
Bloody hell... you own all of this?
Jesus... the place is massive!
Eh, talk about being taken for granted. Is all this for me?
I feel a bit of revision coming on.
You've obviously done this before.
I haven't.
To be honest, I'm not generally
submissive, so this should be interesting.
You like to make men nervous, don't you?
- Real dark horse, aren't you? - Ssh.
- All the times I've seen you in the office...
Ssh.
- I never for one minute would... - Shut up!
- Jesus, what have I done? - Just shut up!
You lot don't know when to stop, do you?
Fitz is right. Smart arse, cocky little gobshites!
He's standing up there, trying to tell you things and you're not listening!
- I won't say anything. - Shut up.
- I won't tell anyone. - Shut up!
Please, whatever this is about, I didn't mean to upset you.
Shut up!
I Close My Eyes And Count To Ten
Please!
It isn't the way that you look
And it isn't the way that you talk... - Please!
Danny was here.
Oh, sorry, thought it was vacant.
Any message?
You've been crying.
- Have you seen her tonight? - No.
That's why you've been crying.
No.
What?
When was it we last fitted new carpets?
Shit!
Come on.
Need any help there?
Come on!
Can I do anything?
What's this, then, rally trials?
How'd you get this far down, anyway?
Hey, calm down!
Budge up, let's have a bash.
You dozy cow, you could've taken my bloody arm off!
Here, boy!
We intercepted this at the sorting office. She says there's another body.
- A John Branaghan. - Student at Queers?
First year.
Make sure you get some pictures of the second body, yeah?
Pictures taken from all angles and the surrounding area.
It's him. John Branaghan. Identical MO.
Pure bloody waste.
- You were fast. - Her husband took the dog for a walk.
A couple of hours and he hadn't come back. She
called the locals and dog led them there.
Massive impact injuries. He only died a couple of minutes ago.
And judging by the tyre tracks I'd say he was hit by a car, so we connect them?
It's not exactly the M62, is it?
The man who came to dinner tonight brought me chocolates.
He thinks that's all there is to it,
but you and me both know it takes much more than that to make someone love you.
Dinner. Came to dinner...
Middle-class concept.
But she says, "but you and me both know" instead of "you and I".
So her education's flawed.
Upper-working-class background with aspirations,
probably... a small business family.
She does not share a flat, because she's frying these guys in private.
Shifting the bodies without being seen so she must have access to money.
"Brought me chocolates. "
Who tries to charm a student with chocolates?
A bottle of cider, possibly.
But they don't use foreplay, it's a well-known fact.
Unless she was older than the victims.
Unless John Branaghan took chocolates to a mature student,
a late learner who resents the men she's sleeping with,
enough so as to want to execute them.
- Identical tyre tracks from all three murders.
Oh, the third was incidental.
She only killed him because he saw her face. Separate motive.
Identical tracks at all three murders. It's the only clue we've got.
We go over every motor registered to the
student car park first thing in the morning.
- Don't you think Fitz is a problem on this one?
What's so special about this one?
If she's writing him love letters, he's a target.
And we have to address his influence on the case.
No, she's not looking for love. She's looking for understanding.
- From you? - From the world.
But she's writing to you.
She says she loves you.
People do.
But I agree with Jane.
If she's writing to you, displacing her love,
her need for understanding, whatever you call it...
Displacement is it, eh?
One sausage roll in the psychology
canteen and suddenly we're Sigmund Freud, are we?
I hardly saw your lips move.
She's still writing to you.
No, she's writing to you!
She is writing to the police because she wants to get caught, you dumb bastard!
- Aye, aye. - You're missing the point, Fitz.
- Am I? - The letters are for you.
The bodies are for you.
She's trying to make you jealous.
She's killed three people for you.