(choir singing)
HENRY PORTMORE: At the Round Table there was one seat kept always vacant,
reserved by Merlin for the knight destined
to claim the Grail, and heal the Wounded Land.
The seat was named'
The Siege Perilous, for should any other dare sit therein,
it held only death.
THURSDAY (reading eye chart): H, P...
N, X, U, T, A, H, D, F...
Hi, Dad!
Get inside, Tommy.
(phone ringing)
♪ As it was in the beginning ♪
♪ It is now and ever shall be ♪
(singing continues)
(radio plays rock music)
PRISONER: All right, George?
(choir singing continues)
♪ Amen, amen... ♪
Ahhh.
(applause)
CHIEF CONSTABLE STANDISH: As Chief Constable, I'd like to express my appreciation
to the Council and in particular to Alderman Wintergreen.
And for taking over sponsorship of this worthy cause,
we are also very grateful to Mr. Josiah Landesman.
Thank you, Joe.
(applause)
Thank you.
I am likewise grateful to Chief Constable Standish
for those kind words.
♪ Amen, amen... ♪
(applause, cabaret music playing)
COMPERE: The Gracie Craig Dance Company, ladies and gentlemen.
And now, without further ado,
would you please welcome Benny and Clyde.
(phone dialing out)
(bell ringing)
(newsman on radio in background)
RADIO ANNOUNCER: constitutional crisis,
Mr. Wilson announced in the House of Commons
that the government will fulfill their commitment
to organizing world opinion in the United Nations
for selecting mandatory sanctions against Rhodesia,
to which end it is believed Mr. George Brown,
the foreign secretary, will today fly to New York.
JOAN: New scarf?
Hmm?
Scarf.
New?
Oh, yes.
Where's that from, then?
From Burridges, by the label.
You're very literal.
It's a failing.
You'd never pick that.
So, who's the admirer?
Don't tease, Joan.
I think it's very nice
if Morse's found someone to take care of him.
Step lively, then.
Warmed the polish?
With a heated spoon, yes.
Only saying, a job's worth doing... I know.
“Look after your shoes...“
"and your shoes'll look after you."
Much in?
We've an 11-year-old, Tommy Cork,
done a bunk from home.
Davey Cork's boy? Yep.
Figures.
Oh, and we've a request in from County.
We're to be on lookout for a George Aldridge.
Absconded from Farnleigh tea time Saturday.
There you go.
Come home safe.
Righto.
Saturday? He'll be long gone.
That was my thinking.
What?
New scarf?
Nice.
What's he in for, this escapee?
Breaking and entering, receiving stolen goods, car theft.
Got three years, due out the second week of January.
January? This January?
Why make a break for it
with so little of your sentence left to go?
That was my thought.
Then what's behind it?
Family troubles? Girlfriend?
No next of kin listed on his file.
No letters or visitors according to the governor.
Can't read, apparently, so...
Well, I can't see we'll come across him.
Best look to the kiddie.
I was going to.
Bloody place.
Turns my guts.
Bleach, sweat, boiled cabbage.
And everything on tick.
Never Never Land.
So what's behind this little jaunt?
Dave take his belt to him again?
Give him a leathering?
ENDEAVOUR: What does he like doing? Football?
Putting in windows and knockdown ginger's more Tommy's line.
ENDEAVOUR: He's keen on dogs, though, yeah?
Dave's got his canaries, but it's no pets with the council.
I'm not about to go to the Housing Department, Mrs. Cork,
but that's not canary molt.
Brave new world, Thursday.
Sir?
This Thames Valley business.
I was talking to Chief Constable Standish
at the Widows and Orphans.
Division have been very impressed with my paper
on the amalgamation.
The one Morse wrote up, sir?
Typed, I think you'll find, from my prepared notes.
Course, sir.
Figure of speech.
In any event I'm having lunch this week with ACC Deare
to go over one or two of the finer points,
but "instrumental" was the word bandied about quite freely.
Merger's definitely going ahead, then?
Oh, yes, all systems go.
Naturally there'll be some streamlining.
Voluntary, for the most part.
Yes, comes to us all, Isuppose,
in the end, one way or another.
Excuse me, I am looking for Tommy Cork.
He's down by the canal.
Down that way.
Thank you.
Hello?
Anyone home?
TOMMY: He said he was going to drown them.
Is that how you got the shiner?
You can't stay here.
You know that.
Don't worry.
I'll talk to the dog unit.
Has he had anything?
Canteen's not open yet sir.
Here you go then.
Mum says I'm not to take anything off strangers.
We're not strangers, we're coppers.
Go on.
You're in for a treat, it's Monday... cheese and pickle.
JAKES: Oi!
What'd you say?
Ah, Thursday... good heavens, what's this?
Waifs and strays?
THURSDAY: Tommy Cork, sir.
The young lad gone missing from home.
He's a bit nervous of us, sir.
Indeed.? No need for that.
Hasn't anyone ever told you the policeman is your friend?
That's not what my dad says.
No?
No. He says you're all bastards.
You wanted a word, sir?
Yes.
Get him back as soon as possible, Morse, all right?
This is a police station, not a creche.
ENDEAVOUR: Yes, sir.
See you finish your crusts.
CLYDE“. He ain't coming.
Don't say that.
I didn't say that.
You said it, you big dummy.
He ain't coming.
Drunk, by the smell of him.
Trying to take a shortcut and the fast's had him.
Name of Patterson, Eric.
No address, but he's a railway ticket dated Saturday
from Bristol.
Return.
Dead about 36 hours.
No obvious signs of injury.
Glancing blow to the skull, perhaps.
Or he fell from the train.
Could have leant out of the window,
door's come open, and goodnight, Irene.
The FME has some concerns about your blood pressure.
Oh, is that all?
Army medic said the same
just before they sent me up the desert to meet Rommel.
Runs in the family.
Nevertheless, he wants to see you again in three months,
review the situation.
The job takes its toll, Thursday.
Only so many years of active service in any of us.
I'm good for a while yet.
I'd hope so too.
But one can't fight the natural way of things.
The old order changeth.
Younger, fitter men come along,
and wisdom and experience can be put to best use in other ways.
Training, you mean.
Sure, it suits some, and good luck to 'em,
but I don't want to play at it.
Theory's no substitute for practice.
I'm a proper copper or I'm nothing, sir.
You don't waste much time.
What's the story?
Misadventure.
Male, 503.
Not local.
Eric Patterson.
Miss Frazil?
ENDEAVOUR: Who was he?
DOROTHEA: Big noise in Fleet Street after the war.
So, what was he doing in Oxford?
I don't know.
I ran into him Saturday
covering the Police Widows and Orphans at the Town Hall.
How did he seem?
He asked to meet me for a drink yesterday,
only he never turned up.
Eric was always...
unreliable.
But I thought he might show.
He said he wanted to pick my brains.
Did he say what about?
Landesman Construction.
Building your big new HQ out at Kidlington, aren't they?
If it goes through.
When.
I saw him bending Alderman Wintergreen's ear
for a good ten minutes.
Well, whatever it was, doesn't matter much to Eric now.
De BRYN: Won't have results back on his blood for a few days,
but he went with a gutful of scotch.
Which must have pleased his duodenal ulcer no end.
He wasn't in the best shape.
Cirrhotic liver.
TB scarring to the lungs... The phlegm fatale.
So what killed him?
Our old friend Mr. Blunt Trauma to the Skull.
Mr. Blunt Trauma?
I like to keep things simple when dealing with the police.
So was he hit by the train?
De BRYN: Glancing blow, if it was.
Chipped a tooth.
Found what was left of it in his stomach.
How much scotch makes a “gutful”?
Imperial or metric?
Twenty-odd fluid ounces.
A bottle's worth, give or take.
80 more than a half-bottle, then.
Oh, yes.
THURSDAY: He could've got a skinful down the pub, couldn't he?
Isuppose.
I just can't see where he thought he might've been going
if it was a shortcut.
The state he was in, who knows?
Anyway, I thought Dr. deBryn said
he might've jumped from the train.
Yes, perhaps.
But he wasn't going home if that was the case.
He was found beside the up line, not the down.
Besides, his ticket hadn't been punched.
Well, it has now.
Anything from Bristol?
No, nothing.
Lived alone, flat in the Clifton area, I think.
No other occupants listed.
Not much more to be done, then.
I think I might have a word with Alderman Wintergreen.
Why?
Ms. Frazil said she saw Patterson talking to him
at the Widows and Orphans on Saturday.
Look, you run the car back.
I might stretch my legs.
Sure?
A bit of a walk'II do me good.
Bit of exercise.
And don't bother picking me up in the morning.
I'll find my own way in.
Night.
What?
Nothing.
Happy?
You?
DAVE: Tommy!
Tommy! Come here!
Where do you think you're going?
Come here!
No! Tommy!
Leave him!
I'm looking for Alderman Wintergreen's office.
Detective Constable Morse, City Police.
Patterson?
No, name doesn't ring a bell.
It's just...
someone said they saw you talking to him
for about ten minutes at the Widows and Orphans on Saturday.
Gerald must have spoken to a hundred people on Saturday.
Didn't you, darling?
It's possible he expressed an interest
in Landesman Construction.
Do you remember anyone approaching you
to talk about that?
Well, Joe Landesman is a longtime benefactor
of the Widows and Orphans, he was here.
But I'm afraid I don't remember your Mr...
Eric Patterson.
What happened to him?
He appears to have been hit by a train
late on Saturday evening.
Oh, dear. Appears?
I wouldn't have thought there to be much doubt
with something like that.
We like to be thorough.
Well, good luck with your investigation.
But you'll have to excuse me, I'm due in the chamber.
Of course, of course.
Mrs. Wintergreen.
Not at all.
(laughter)
Here he is, then.
What's this, Fred, missed the alarm?
You'll find yourself in the late book.
Tea, sir?
Anything for you, Mr. Chard?
No, no, you're all right.
Peter's a good sergeant, you treat him right.
So what brings you above ground?
Didn't think night watch could venture out in daylight.
Sworn to, Fred, sworn to.
All come out in the wash, I'm sure.
Well, well.
If it ain't the cocky little sod made me look a first class chump
in the strangler case.
Did you want anything in particular, Hugh?
Or do you just drop by to admire the furnishings?
Last quarter's crime figures, request by division.
I put them in on the first of the month generally.
He who pays the piper.
They just want me to cast an eye.
Be this Thames Valley shake-up, I expect.
Winds of change.
Who knows where the pieces'II land?
Well, thanks for these.
Be seeing you.
First class?
Third rate more like.
Whatever he is, you watch yourself.
You'll be all right as long as I'm here,
but when it comes to vindictive,
DI Chard's in a league of his own.
How'd you make out at the council?
Wintergreen claims he's never met Patterson.
But I've someone else to see,
so I'm going to have to cry off lunch.
Oh, well, all right.
Needs must.
Tuesday...
Mr. Landesman?
Detective Constable Morse, City Police.
Your office said I might find you here.
I assume they told you I'd gone to lunch.
Well, sit ye down, man.
Sit ye down.
What can I get you?
Nothing, thank you.
On duty, is it?
Ah well, I'm sure that's to be admired.
Let me ask you something...
What do you think to motorway service stations?
That phone's going to ring in a minute
and I've got to decide whether to put in for one
on the M4 above Port Talbot.
Well, I couldn't really claim to be an expert...
The smart young men I pay to know such things
tell me it's the future, but I'm not so sure.
Do you use them?
I don't have a car.
Ah!
But if you did?
No matter.
So, what can I do for you?
I wanted to ask you about a journalist
called Eric Patterson.
You may have met him at the Widows and Orphans gala.
I talk to a lot ofjournalists,
but I don't recall one bending my ear that day.
(phone rings)
If there's nothing else I can help you with?
No, of course, I'll let you get back to your...
Thank you.
Morse? Good heavens!
What are you doing here?
I've been to see Mr. Landesman, sir.
May I introduce Detective Constable Morse, sir.
Assistant Chief Constable Deare.
Mr. Bright and I have just been discussing his paper
on the merger between county and surrounding forces.
Extraordinary piece of work.
Thames Valley.
A new beginning.
And an ending.
That so, but no progress without change.
Well, don't let us keep you, Morse.
Sir, thank you.
Mr. Deare.
Sharp young man.
Type we could do with more of.
Wouldn't you say, Reg?
Yes, sir.
That fatal on the railway,
you don't remember seeing him talking to Alderman Wintergreen
at the Widows and Orphans, do you?
No, sorry, matey.
All I managed to pick up on the bush telegraph
was that a certain Dl's in for a leg up the greasy.
I Wish.
No, not Thursday.
Chard.
DCI, Thames Valley goes through.
In operational control of all plainclothes.
The old man won't like that, answering to the likes of Chard.
Put his nose right out of...
Loose lips, Constable.
And less of the old, if you don't mind.
Sir.
Your kid's gone AWOL again, Tommy Cork.
From what his mother's saying,
his old man's give him a proper larruping.
Tommy?
BRIGHT: This absconder from Farnleigh?
Looks to be, sir.
BRIGHT: You think the Cork boy
took up with Aldridge?
Fish and chips for two.
They weren't here yesterday, nor was the transistor.
BRIGHT: So, where is he?
Why did he run away?
Maybe he saw something of what happened to Aldridge?
Let's hope he's still alive.
Better get down to Farnleigh,
see if there's anyone there can shed light.
WAINWRIGHT: You're wasting your time.
It's already been looked at.
What do you mean it's been looked at?
By whom? Police.
I took 'em for County.
When was this?
Earlier.
What name did they give?
I don't remember offhand.
But it would be in the log book, presumably.
Yes, presumably.
On your feet, Parker.
What's all this about then?
Aldridge.
Got hisself drowned.
Drowned?
Did he own a transistor, do you know?
Yeah, yeah, he did.
WAINWRIGHT: You should be in the laundry, shouldn't you?
Get to it, then.
So, where are Aldridge's things?
I told you, your mob took 'em.
I'd be grateful if you could check the entry log
as to who that was exactly.
I'll find you when I've finished here.
CLYDE: I told you, he ain't coming.
What kind of man was Aldridge?
Frightened.
Woke up most nights screaming.
Nervous type.
Always fiddling with his Roman beads.
He was religious?
He didn't go to chapel or bother the Sky Pilot overmuch.
Just his thing with his beads.
Did he give you any indication he was going to escape?
I had an idea.
Since Wednesday.
How's that?
He liked me to read him out the personal columns
from the Oxford Mail.
You know the sort of thing,
“secondhand ironing board, one careful owner.“
“Tall dark stranger would like to meet similar.“
Anyway, this one I read out, George went white as a sheet.
That night he had the terrors bad.
I mean worse than I ever seen.
Do you remember what it said?
Just a bunch of letters, A-P-A or something.
I don't know.
You're sure it was Wednesday?
Oh, positive.
Pineapple chunks, see.
It's pineapple on a Wednesday.
Parker!
Running all the way, Mr. Wainwright.
My opposite number at County assures me none of his officers
have been to Farnleigh.
Somebody went in, sir.
The place has been cleared.
What makes you think they were County men?
Prison officer's impression, sir.
They'd have had to sign in, wouldn't they?
Signatures were illegible.
DEARE: Well, I have to say, Chief Constable Standish
is none too happy with the perceived slur.
(knock on door)
Oh, sorry, sir.
Assistant Chief Constable Dears, DS Jakes.
Peter, I believe.
BRIGHT: You wanted something?
It's Tommy Cork, sir.
We might have a sighting.
Hanging around outside the Empire Theater.
A runaway, sir, ten years old.
He may have seen the murder of this abscondee from Farnleigh.
I see.
JAKES: The sighting was very sketchy.
Patrol's been dispatched, it's probably nothing.
BRIGHT: Drowned?
De BRYN: Yes.
But that doesn't explain the rest of it.
Contusions are consistent with his having taken
a sustained beating.
Within an hour or so of his death.
Somebody worked him over?
De BRYN: Rather comprehensively.
Fractured ribs, ruptured spleen...
All while his hands were bound.
Can you put a time to it?
De BRYN: An hour or two either side of midnight.
THURSDAY: “ A41“ .
The A41, presumably.
Not that it comes anywhere near Oxford.
So where's he get the coat?
BRIGHT: His coat? What about it?
Well, its not standard prison issue.
BRIGHT: Stolen?
ENDEAVOUR: Thompson and Beard... Same Row.
De BRYN: They also had a branch in the Broad,
if memory serves.
That closed when Adam was a boy.
JAKES: What's that?
Laundry tag?
THURSDAY: Dry cleaning, more likely.
See if you can get a local match.
Sir.
(phone ringing)
ENDEAVOUR: Sir...
What's this?
The small ad in the Mail that spooked George Aldridge.
TH U RS DAY: "A41 ."
That's the same as the tattoo on Aldridge's arm.
Who placed the ad?
The Mail are digging it out.
But going through his record,
Aldridge spent some time at Blenheim Vale,
a residential home for wayward boys.
Closed in '55, when Boxgrove opened.
The Blenheim Vale that's being redeveloped as the new HQ?
Miss Frazil said that journalist, Eric Patterson,
wanted to pick her brains about Landesman Construction.
Two men die within days of each other
in suspicious circumstances,
each with a connection to Blenheim Vale.
(bird wings flapping)
Hello.
Get away from me.
Don't be alarmed, don't be alarmed.
I'm a policeman.
Detective Constable Morse, City Police.
What are you doing here?
Just having a look around.
You?
I live about a mile through the woods.
Am I in trouble?
Not with me.
I know it's trespass, I just...
It just feels more like a walk in the woods.
I can go then?
What's the word on Tommy Cork?
Uniform are scouring the street, but...
Someone cleared out George Aldridge's cell.
S if it wasn't County, then...
Who knows?
When I started, the good blokes all wore blue.
Maybe Mr. Bright's right... Time to go.
Streamlining, he called it, this merger.
They'll be looking to make way for a bit of new blood.
Lump sum if you go voluntary.
Retirement?
New station, new force?
I'm too set in my ways to start over.
Every dog.
I'd see you were looked to.
Find someone to take you on
and rattle you through your Sergeant's.
McNutt maybe?
McNutt's good.
One for the road?
I didn't stay in Oxford to work under McNutt.
HILLY: "We were together in the armchair by this time.
"And Wendy plied him with more questions."
"'If you don't live in Kensington Gardens now...'"
”Sometimes I do still.'
“But where do you live mostly now?'
“'With the Lost Boys.“
“'Who are they?'
"'They are the children who fall out of their perambulators"
when the nurse is looking the other way.
"'If they are not claimed in seven days
"they are sent far away to the Never/and to defray expenses.'
"'I am Captain, what fun it must be.'
“Yes, ' said cunning Peter, 'but we are rather lonely.
”You see we have no female companionship.'
"'Are none of the others girls?'"
"'Oh, no; girls, you know, are much too clever"
to fall out of their prams.
(knock on door)
Good morning, sir.
Morning, Angela.
Could you check and see how busy my diary is looking today?
Of course.
I've the offer of nine holes with Joe Landesman
and another pair, and I wanted to give him a time.
Give you a lift?
No, thank you.
Have a good day.
What is it?
You weren't yourself last night.
Has something happened?
It's a few things.
Thursday, really.
He's talking about early retirement.
It's got me thinking...
What if I wasn't a policeman anymore?
What would you do instead?
I don't know.
Teacher, maybe?
We could go abroad.
We?
Why not?
People do.
Couples.
I'm going to be late.
ENDEAVOUR: “Sir, I would be grateful if you would place
"this personal advertisement in the appropriate section"
“of your newspaper on Wednesday, 30th of November.
Message as follows: 'A.P.A.D. A41
Arrived Tuesday, second post.
Paid for in cash, I'm afraid.
No signature. No, but it's franked.
Post office should be able to tell me
who holds the franking license.
Is there any news on Eric?
Or of the lad Tommy Cork?
None as yet, I'm afraid.
Is there anything in the archive on Blenheim Vale?
Nothing that springs to mind.
It's been shut, what, ten years?
Eleven.
There was a... what was it?
I've a vague recollection of a suicide
couple of years after it closed.
Ayoung man hanged himself.
You wouldn't remember a name?
I could have a look, send on what we've got.
You'd probably be quicker getting on to County.
They looked at it... There was nothing there.
I covered the inquest; it was open and shut.
Toodle-oo.
Thank you, Ms. Frazil.
I wonder if it is worth having another go at Landesman.
You already braced him over Patterson, haven't you?
Yes, but not George Aldridge.
All right, I'm going to dig out DI Church,
see if he can shed any light on the County angle.
We can compare notes down the watering hole, right?
Yes, sir.
CHURCH: Morse putting it about we cleared Aldridge's cell
has not won him any friends at County, I can promise you.
THURSDAY: Anything in it?
Not that I've heard.
What about Blenheim Vale?
The new HQ?
Word is a few palms got nicely greased up
at the Council getting that through.
Like whose, for instance? Like Wintergreen, for one.
Wintergreen?
Town Hall graft.
Came in with the Ark, didn't it?
What about before that?
When it was a boys' school?
Wasn't my patch then.
I didn't come across till after it'd closed.
I was told there was a lad hanged himself
eight or nine years back.
Might've done.
You couldn't have a dig around for us, could you?
I don't know, Fred.
Some things in our game... sleeping dogs.
What does that mean?
It means I'm taking a risk even talking to you.
So Why'd you agree to meet?
'Cause there's nothing they can do to me.
I'm putting my papers in.
This time next month it'll be Inspector Church no longer.
Plain old Mr. Church.
I've a feeling I won't mind that one bit.
All change, Fred.
Time to go.
If you do hear anything on Aldridge...
He's dead.
Bury him and forget him.
For your own sake.
ENDEAVOUR: Mr. Landesman?
LANDESMAN: Detective Constable...
Morse.
You know Chief Constable Standish, I take it?
And Detective Inspector Chard.
Detective Constable, what's this about?
It's pursuant to an inquiry
into the murder of George Aldridge, sir.
He is the escapee from Farnleigh Open Prison.
Did you know him, Mr. Landesman?
I'm afraid, as a rule, I don't seek the society
of habitual criminals.
Present company.
(laughter)
He was at Blenheim Vale
in the late '40s, eafly'50s.
Constable, I buy, sell and develop properties.
Profit and loss.
That's as far as my interest extends.
The history of a place?
Who lived there?
I'm afraid that's none of my business.
Unless there was anything else you wanted to ask, Constable.
No, Chief Constable Standish, DI Chard.
That was all, sir.
I'm sorry to have interrupted your game.
Do I detect a note of rebuke?
You want to watch that rube, eh?
Come on, Gerry.
He's only doing his job.
He'll be back before five.
May I give him a message?
Thank you.
Do excuse me, sir.
Nicholas Myers, junior clerk.
How may I be of service?
Detective Constable Morse, City Police.
A letter was sent from this office a week ago last Monday
to the Oxford Mail.
An advert for the personal columns.
I was wondering if you might be able to shed any light on that?
In what regard, sir?
Well, I'm looking to find out who wrote the letter.
Ah, I see.
Then I regret I'm unable to be of any assistance.
I merely post and frank.
Correspondence is taken care of by the partners' secretaries.
Of course, if it relates to a client,
it would be covered by legal confidentiality.
That doesn't seem to be the case.
This was a private matter.
I see.
Well, I can ask the partners, of course, sir.
Well, thank you for your assistance.
Not at all, sir.
You wouldn't happen to know a George Aldridge, I suppose?
No.
That's not a name with which I'm familiar.
Thank you.
You see, Alderman, the way things stand,
we've got you rumored to be on a nice little earner
for making sure things went Landesman's way
on Blenheim Vale.
And now a journalist with an interest in Landesman
has turned up dead,
a journalist last seen talking to you
at the Widows and Orphans on Saturday.
Anything you'd like to tell me about that?
Well... that is one heck of a story, I grant you.
But, sadly, in politics one attracts
that sort of tittle-tattle as a matter of course.
I'm still not exactly sure what is being alleged.
Well, you can see how it looks.
My book, thing walks like a duck, and talks like a duck...
You deny any impropriety? Naturally.
Where did you come across this particular little gem,
if you don't mind my asking?
I'm just off, then, Mr. Wintergreen.
WINTERGREEN: Good night, Angela.
Good night.
I am a man of considerable private means, Inspector.
But I'll tell you what I put a price on far beyond rubies...
My good name.
You say I'd put this at risk.
For what?
A pocketful of change?
(condescending chuckle)
Really?
Sir.
How did you make out with Wintergreen?
He's a slippery customer, but that's hardly...
The hell are you doing with those?
They should be on the exhibits desk at the nick.
The way things have been going missing lately,
I thought they'd be safer in my pocket.
Besides, I think I've got something.
Got what?
Well, the beads.
It's notjust a random arrangement... it's a code.
Radioteletype to be specific.
Morse?
Black for dots, white for dashes,
and red to mark the word breaks.
It spells out “All for one, and one for all.“
The Three Musketeers.
So that's what the tattoo meant on George Aldridge's arm.
A41... all for one.
What about the rest of it?
A.P.A.D., wasn't it?
Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnian, presumably.
So which one was George Aldridge?
More to the point, who are the other three?
(phone rings)
Hello?
Yes.
CLYDE: Where are you going?
You know where I'm going.
Can I come too?
No.
Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
Who found him?
His secretary, Mrs. McGarrett.
THURSDAY: Dr. deBryn?
DEARE: Good God, it's true, then.
We were at Division when we heard.
THURSDAY: Time?
De BRYN: Sometime between 10:00 last night
and 1:00 this morning.
Oh, Jesus...
You all right?
Yes, sir.
You don't look it.
Something I ate.
THURSDAY: Statements and particulars from anyone
who may have seen anything... Anyone working late,
councilors, cleaners.
Right, sir.
ENDEAVOUR: Had you worked long for the Alderman?
Two years.
What do you make to his wife?
She's always been perfectly charming towards me.
Are there any children?
No.
And when did you see him last?
Yesterday evening at 5:30 when I finished work.
How did he seem?
His normal self.
Busy, never too busy for a quick word and a cheerio.
And then after work you went where?
Home.
Your husband will confirm that?
My father.
We share a house together.
I'm widowed, these three years.
I'm sorry.
Thank you.
DEARE: Morse, a moment.
This assertion of yours that officers may have been
into Farnleigh and cleared George Aldridge's cell.
I've made some discreet inquiries of my own.
You think there's something untoward at County?
The rot goes deeper and wider than that.
Even to your own station.
You've raised doubts this year yourself
over evidence going missing.
Yes, I have, sir.
There was a notebook pertaining to the Frida Yelland case.
And a ring... a Masonic ring... Connected to Blythe Mount,
the school out at Slepe.
Dark forces, Morse,
which must be dragged into the light.
Torn out, root and branch.
THURSDAY: Bad apples?
The Commissioner's asked me to get to the bottom of it
as a matter of priority.
But I need two men I can trust to do the legwork.
We've a chance here... A real chance...
To clean the stables once and for all.
Make Thames Valley something worth fighting for.
Sir, do you think it's connected to the death
of Alderman Wintergreen,
or the disappearance of Tommy Cork?
I can't say it chimes with my intelligence,
though anything's possible.
Whatever comes your way on the Aldridge case,
you report directly to me at Division.
Any time, night or day.
We can break them, the three of us.
THURSDAY: Did he have any enemies
that you can think of?
Gerry was in local government.
Rivalries, perhaps, but nothing to warrant something like this.
He had a very winning personality.
But with the public?
There was the odd crank, of course.
The Green Ink Brigade, Gerald called them.
Though for the most part, people adored him.
He played the organ, you know.
And the piano.
People loved to hear him.
This Green Ink Brigade...
were there ever any threats made against him?
Neither more nor less than his colleagues received.
Nonsense most of it.
People exercised about roads, or housing.
Did he ever mention the name George Aldridge to you?
It's not a name with which I'm familiar.
All I can tell you is my husband's life
was one lived beyond reproach.
Why anyone would...
It's past fathoming.
What do you reckon to this business with Deare?
Something rotten is happening at County.
And the town hall too.
Look, I'd better report to Bright.
See if you can get a statement off Landesman
and meet me back here.
Why, do you think Landesman is involved?
If what Church says about the backhanders holds water,
who knows?
Maybe they had a falling out over spoils.
I told you both Wintergreen and Landesman were playing golf
with DI Chard and Chief Constable Standish.
Deare said it went deeper and wider than we knew.
What if it goes higher, too?
Then you'd better mind how you go.
LANDESMAN You are here about Gerry.
What happened to him?
Beyond he was murdered, we can't really say.
You were close, I understand.
We'd certainly known one another many years.
Gerry was a man of exceptional qualities.
Such as?
He had... well, it's often overused, but Gerry had it.
You know, the, urn... popular touch.
He really did.
I can't tell you how many times I've been with him...
In the street, or at some function or other...
Everyone wanted to talk to Gerry.
And he was very good with that,
very generous with his time.
Money too, of course.
What about enemies?
None that come to mind.
I'll need an account of your whereabouts yesterday evening.
I was working late at the office.
Alone.
Will anyone vouch for you?
"Alone" would seem to suggest not.
Sir?
Sir, there's an account in this punishment book
of an attempted arson
George Aldridge and five other boys committed there.
One of his co-accused was Ben Topling.
Who?
ENDEAVOUR: Him.
The same was on the wall of Aldridge's cell.
Shan't keep you.
There's no rush.
I have to say, it's very impressive.
How do you do it?
BENNY: Practice.
Till your throat bleeds.
I had a speech impediment at school
and the man who treated me...
Don't touch him!
He doesn't...
sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but the mechanism is delicate.
Sorry, what did you want to ask?
You attended Blenheim Vale
for several years in the early '503, is that right?
You are Benjamin Arnold Topling,
date of birth 23rd of the 6th, 1938.
You got the wrong man, copped!
You'll never take me alive, see!
This is a serious investigation, Mr. Topling.
It's no laughing matter.
BENNY: No, of course.
I'm sorry.
It's a... nervous habit.
You've got nothing to be nervous about.
Unless you've done something wrong.
I haven't.
Liar!
We can continue this down the station if you'd prefer.
Just the three of us.
It's fine.
Clyde... please.
Please.
All right, already!
Not another word.
Please, ask me what you like.
My lips are sealed.
Quiet as the grave.
Our records show that you were at Blenheim Vale
the same time as George Aldridge.
Not that I remember.
He had a poster for this show on his wall.
Why might that be?
What's the matter, Benny Boy?
Cat got your t-t-t-tongue?
It's a popular show.
Oh, you think that's the only reason?
I can't say.
THURSDAY: That's not good enough.
George Aldridge was murdered.
And we've a boy missing who may've seen something.
A boy?
THURSDAY: Tommy Cork.
He's ten years old.
If whoever did for Aldridge knows the child was witness,
he could be in mortal danger.
If you know anything at all...
I can't say.
Mr. Topling...
Mr. Topling!
Leave him alone!
He's telling the truth.
He's scared for his life, can't you see that?
Scared of what?
Not what, dummy... who.
There's things in that haunted maze of a mind he can't admit.
Not even to himself.
When he says he can't say, he means just that.
He can't say.
But I can.
If you two are on the level and you really want to know
about Blenheim Vale, ask Doc Fairbridge.
Detective Constable Morse?
ENDEAVOUR: Mrs. McGarrett.
I'm sorry, madam, there must be some mistake.
We were looking for Dr. Fairbridge.
That'll be Dad.
Would you like to come in?
Blenheim Vale was only on my list for a few years.
From '51 to about '55.
When it closed.
We lived off the Woodstock Road
adjacent to the grounds.
What do you think he meant by “Ask Doc Fairbridge“?
I've no idea.
Truly, there's nothing to tell.
It was just a run-of-the-mill establishment.
I looked to any medical concerns the boys had.
Vaccinations and so forth.
Mumps, measles, whooping cough.
And, of course, all the usual cuts, bumps and bruises.
Do you remember a George Aldridge?
I'm afraid not.
ANGELA: Yes, you do, Dad.
He used to come over the fence and play with us sometimes.
FAIRBRIDGE: Did he?
I'll have to take your word for it.
Though for the life of me I can't picture him.
(phone rings)
I'm on call.
Excuse me.
I'm sure we've a photograph of him somewhere.
I can dig it out, if that would be useful.
If it wouldn't be too much trouble.
I can't guarantee that,
but I'll certainly let you know as soon as I've found it.
Thank you very much, Mrs. McGarrett.
MONICA: Did you mean it?
Teaching?
Packing it all in? Going abroad?
Yes.
It just you say things...
Sometimes you sound like you mean them and others, like...
Like when I've got two, maybe three murders
and a missing child to think about?
I just don't want you to think I'm making you do anything
you don't want to.
I know, I don't.
You really want to leave?
Yes.
Okay.
Just not on my account.
No, I'll put my papers in, I promise.
Soon as it's over.
When the hurly burly's done.
Maybe we could talk about it tonight?
Again?
What's to say?
It's done.
Will you lock up?
THURSDAY: Mrs. Wintergreen's turned up a pile of letters
in her husband's old briefcase, this Green Ink Brigade.
She say what's in them?
Mostly complaining about the sale of Blenheim Vale
to Landesman.
Turns out Wintergreen had the casting vote on the council
when it went through.
I said I'd take a run up there with Jakes.
Where are you?
Meeting Angela McGarrett in town.
That photograph of George Aldridge.
Pick up sticks after lunch, then.
ANGELA: Dad didn't approve of me
playing with the boys from Blenheim Vale.
We used to sneak away into the woods
when the grownups weren't looking.
Did you keep in touch with any of them after you moved away?
No.
I hadn't thought of it in years.
And then I bumped into Henry last summer in the High.
Henry Portmore.
He's some sort of academic at Pellam now.
Married.
To Hilary Spencer.
They've a little boy.
So, there's one happy ending.
Hilary's brother Ed had a nervous breakdown
and hanged himself.
From a tree at Blenheim Vale.
Ed Spencer was the first boy I ever kissed.
It wasn't a grownup kiss, of course.
We were too young to know about that.
Just a peck.
But one remembers it all the same.
ENDEAVOUR: Why did you tell me you didn't know George Aldridge?
What happened at Blenheim Vale?
There were five... six of us.
And Petey, Petey Williams.
We weren't bad lads.
Not really.
Just kids.
Orphans, some of us.
Others just had a knack of getting into trouble.
Somehow we all ended up at Blenheim Vale.
80 Me, George, Benny, Ed, Henry and the two Pete's.
Big Pete, Little Pete.
We were a gang, I suppose.
Not so much Little Pete;
he was a bit younger, but we used to let him tag along.
ENDEAVOUR: Little Pete what?
NICHOLAS: I don 't remember.
He wasn't there for very long.
Kids came and went.
It was tough, you know?
Cold water and cross country.
But you had each other.
And that is how you got through.
And Big Pete was our leader for want of a better word.
Then this new bloke turned up.
Do-gooder, had all these new ideas.
Put a bit of money into the place...
Sports equipment and so forth.
Set a lot of store by physical fitness, "improving" weekends.
We had to meet him in the car down the end of the lane.
He drove us somewhere...
Guest house, hotel, whatever it was.
Things happened there.
Awful, terrible things.
We paid him back, though.
Or we thought we had.
BOY: Go on, Pete.
(explosion)
NICHOLAS: They'd an idea who did it, but they couldn't prove it.
We all got stuck on half rations.
Maybe somebody squealed, but however it went...
One weekend Big Pete went off.
We all knew where he'd gone,
only this time he never came back.
They said he'd been transferred.
You didn't try to find him?
Of course we did.
After we left, we tried.
Nothing, no record.
Did you go the police?
Oh, yeah.
I told him not to; George went.
Spilled the whole story.
What happened?
They told him not to tell lies.
Not so long after that
he started getting into proper trouble with the law.
Before the last time he was sent down, the rest of us made a vow,
if ever one of us was ever in trouble...
You'd put an ad in the personal column of the Mail.
Anyone that saw it,
no matter where they were or what they were doing,
was honor bound, if they could, to attend a pow-wow
within the next seven days.
So why did you place the ad now?
Couple of weeks back,
this journalist comes by out of the blue.
Bloke called Patterson, Eric Patterson.
He'd heard rumors about what went on out at Blenheim Vale,
said he'd been looking into it for a while.
What did you tell him?
Nothing.
I told him I couldn't help him.
I put it out of my mind, or tried to.
And then I got a visit.
From whom?
Your lot, asking after Patterson.
So I denied any knowledge.
They said if he did come by, I should let them know.
I didn't know what to do.
So you put an ad in the Mail.
Who was he?
This governor at Blenheim?
HAZEL: Gerry certainly was a governor at Blenheim Vale.
That's no secret.
But the rest of this revolting slander?
My husband is murdered
and you have the gall to come into my home with such filth?
Gerry's life was dedicated to the service
of those less fortunate than himself,
in particular the young,
who perhaps didn't enjoy the same kind of advantages.
I have to say I'm surprised you were so easily taken in.
Dr. Portmore, Detective Constable Morse, City Police.
HILLY: My brother couldn't cope
with what happened to him at Blenheim Vale.
Adepression, the coroner ruled.
The police looked into it, of course, but...
“No suspicious circumstances.“
It was all I could do not to laugh in their faces.
And just out of interest, where were you both
the night Alderman Wintergreen was killed?
We were with Nick and Ben at Nick's place.
How is she?
Angela?
Henry last saw her in town not long after her divorce.
She was in quite a bad way then.
Divorce?
She gave me to understand she'd been widowed.
Ah, perhaps that's easier to say.
It wasn't a happy marriage.
Poor girl.
Growing up here, it's a wonder she can function at all.
This was Dr. Fairbridge's house?
HENRY: "Sanctuary" we called it.
He was the only adult who showed us a little bit of kindness.
ENDEAVOUR: Forgive me,
but given what happened to your brother,
I'd have thought this would be the last place
you would choose to live.
HENRY: I managed to convince the college to finance a dig here.
Ostensibly to look for a Neolithic barrow.
But that's not what you were looking for?
No.
What then?
I think you probably know.
We'd been working here about six weeks.
Late one Friday afternoon,
I got a visit from the local bobby asking what we were up to.
Monday morning I get a message in my pigeonhole
from the bursar.
Funding's been withdrawn and the dig shut down.
Did they give a reason why?
None that satisfied.
I've got an appeal in,
but not that I expect it to come to anything.
You think Peter Williams is buried here?
He's here.
Somewhere.
And I intend to find him.
I owe him that, he was my friend.
In regard of these sordid and disgusting accusations,
no further approaches will be made to Mrs. Wintergreen.
Peter Williams, 3 young boy, may have been murdered, sir.
Indeed? Who says so?
My wife happens to sit
on the Widows and Orphans Steering Committee
with Hazel Wintergreen.
Oh, well...
Yes, "Oh, well"!
I appreciate such hateful grubbiness may well accord
with your four-legs-good view of the world,
but it does not make it so!
It does not make it fact!
It does not make it true.
It is fishy, though, sir.
Landesman acquires Blenheim Vale,
and the next thing Dr. Portmore's dig gets shut down.
We've three men alleging Wintergreen interfered
with them, sir... three.
There is nothing in that.
Blenheim Vale was looked at in the early '503.
Looked at? By whom?
Assistant Chief Constable Deare, amongst others.
The investigation concluded there was nothing
that went on there that cannot be found occurring
in any minor public school.
Anything more is just the wild and spiteful imaginings
of a group of former delinquents.
They're not lying.
Better run it past Deare.
See if it fits with anything he knows.
Come by the house when you're done.
Walls have ears.
Chard?
THURSDAY: I wouldn't trust anyone in this nick further than I could spit.
All right, then, Tom, where've you been, then?
Tommy! Tom!
DEARE: These three friends of George Aldridge,
where were they the night Wintergreen died?
Together.
The three men and Hilary.
Will they talk now?
Go on record?
I'd like to speak with them.
Rectify my mistake.
With their testimony we could nail...
who knows how many of the bastards?
Well, I don't know, I can ask.
If you could.
Don't lose heart.
We're close, Morse.
We're close, the net's tightening.
So, what's Deare's take?
Same as mine.
It all starts with the journalist, Patterson.
WIN: Joan!
Come away, now.
ENDEAVOUR: Somewhere on his travels, in some pub or bar,
he runs into a young man with a story to tell,
the victim of Wintergreen or Landesman.
THURS DAY: Or both.
ENDEAVOUR: Whichever it is, Blenheim Vale gets mentioned,
along with the names of one or two boys.
Now, Patterson is a newspaperman to his boots,
so he approaches some of the boys.
He comes to Oxford but no one wants to talk.
But he's persistent to the point
where Nicholas Myers panics and sends out the twilight bark,
the emergency SOS to his fellow musketeers,
calling them for an emergency pow-wow.
But George Aldridge is still banged up in Farnleigh,
and it takes him till Saturday to go over the wall.
At which point Patterson's already decided
to take a different tack.
He's this hardbitten Fleet Street hack
who's ran with criminals and gangsters.
What's he got to be scared of some council place-man
and the director of a construction company?
So he approaches Wintergreen and Landesman head on.
Only he's reckoned without their connection to muscle
in County and City police.
Mmm.
And unfortunately for him,
he chooses the same Saturday that Aldridge decides
to go on the run from Farnleigh.
So when Landesman and Wintergreen find out
that Aldridge has gone AWOL,
they assume that he escaped in order to spill his guts
to Patterson about Blenheim Vale.
Well, exactly.
They were afraid that all the terrible things they'd done
and had, no doubt, continued to do
were finally to be dragged into the light.
So they took steps.
Bad apples, Morse.
Every barrel's got 'em.
The same bad apples that did for George Aldridge.
THURS DAY: And Tommy Cork saw them; that's Why they were after him.
But who's involved?
Which officers?
And from where?
The same as cleared out Aldridge's cell, presumably.
What was all that about, do you think?
Anything which might point the finger
at Wintergreen and Landesman.
Hmm.
Only they overlooked the playbill on the wall
which led us to Benny Topling.
(doorbell rings)
I think Patterson had intended to see Topling.
He had a theater ticket,
but obviously only Landesman's goons got to him first.
So who called Wintergreen?
Constable Strange, Dad.
Evening, sir.
What's this? House calls?
Take the weight, I'll get a brew on.
Thank you, sir.
Morse.
Couldn't get the kettle on, could you, love?
One of the lads.
I can see that.
What happened to the hallstand?
I thought that was where work stopped.
STRANGE I only caught half a glimpse,
and it was definitely Tommy Cork, no question.
Registration?
That's just it, only the first part.
It matches a number of unmarked cars used by County.
I rang through, but they're showing no record
of any of their units having lifted him.
I just thought you should know.
You'd better talk to Deare.
Telephone call for you, sir.
Would you excuse me, Reggie?
Yes, yes.
Of course.
Reginald.
POLICE OFFICER: This came for you.
Thank you.
DEARE (on phone): Hello?
Hello, sir.
Morse, thank God, I've been trying to reach you.
MORSE (on phone): Sir, it's about the boy.
Tommy Cork?
Yes.
Don't worry, we know where he is
but he'll only come across to you.
Yes, sir.
I need you to meet me straight away.
Where? When?
Get a pen and take this down.
(phone ringing)
SAM: Hello?
Whose calling?
I'll just get him for you.
Dad, K's a Mr. Deere for you.
(gunshot)
(engine revs)
(grunting)
(gunshot)
(gunshots)
Yes.
Yes, I understand, but...
There has to be some other way.
I've done enough, I can't...
For the love of God, he's a child.
I'm a doctor!
All right, all right.
Where is he?
All right, I'll meet you there.
Meet who?
Where?
What child?
Angela...
It wasn't just a bad dream, was it?
All well, Clive?
Actually, sir, it's Detective Constable Morse.
You better take a seat, it's quite a story.
Brandy?
Where's Thursday?
What do you mean where is he?
He left a message with the duty log
saying that he was meeting you at Blenheim Vale.
I need you to get every man you can trust over there now.
City boys only.
Understand?
No can do, matey.
Orders.
Orders?
What orders? From where?
We've been told if anything comes through from out that way
we're not to respond.
Some County operation.
It's come from ACC Deare.
I see.
What's that?
If it all goes wrong, maybe everything...
Deare, Chard, it's all in there.
I told you one day you'd have to choose.
Today's that day.
If you do nothing else, find Bright and tell him
Thursday's in trouble.
(laughter)
I need your help.
Thursday's out at Blenheim Vale.
I've a car outside, come on.
Blenheim Vale?
I can't.
Little Pete.
Myers couldn't remember your last name.
Were you there?
To some of us bastards, it's more than just a name.
You don't think about something for long enough,
you think you've forgotten.
Then one day somebody comes along...
ENDEAVOUR: Deare.
JAKES: There were four of them.
Deere, he was just a copper then.
Josiah Landesman, the new governor Wintergreen
and Doc Fairbridge.
Dr. Fairbridge?
Insofar as he knew what was going on
and did nothing to stop it.
Covered up for them when they went too far.
LANDESMAN: One name?
Last chance.
ENDEAVOUR: What about Standish.
Was he involved?
No.
It was just the four of them.
I ran that dry cleaning tag to ground.
The coat belonged to the Doc.
George Aldridge went to him
and he betrayed George Aldridge to his death.
He always was a two-faced bastard.
The other lads couldn't see it.
Only me.
Fairbridge was one of them, all right.
ENDEAVOUR: Did Angela have any idea What was going on?
JAKES: More than an idea, I think.
Some of them...
It wasn't just lads; you just had to be young.
See, they wanted a name
for whoever burnt out Wintergreen's car.
They knew who it was, but they wanted a name.
(shouts)
So I told 'em.
I tried not to...
(sighs)
Look, we have a chance to bury them.
All of them.
Come on.
(glass shatters)
I can't, I can't.
I'm sorry, I can't.
(thunderclap)
Well, that could have been nasty.
Sir, it's a set-up.
Ifigured as much.
I don't usually pack this for a friendly chat.
But you came anyway?
It's always been about the boy.
If there's any chance to get him back, however small,
you'd have done the same.
So, who're we expecting?
It's Deare.
Just Deare?
Deare arranged a small reception just for me.
Said he had Tommy,
but the kid would only come across if I was there.
Chard tried to kill me.
Land esman?
He's not the type to get his hands dirty.
Why would he when he's got Deare there?
The only thing I can't work out is why they killed Wintergreen.
They didn't.
It was someone else.
Wintergreen's appetites
extended beyond just the boys of Blenheim Vale.
The mind plays tricks, I suppose.
Does what it can to forget.
Perhaps Angela told herself it was all in her imagination.
Something I'm sure her father encouraged in her.
In any event, something triggered her recollection,
with fatal consequences.
Good night, Mr. Stafford.
Good night.
Alderman?
Angela...
Oh!
Funny...
It'll be 28 years tomorrow since Ijoined the job.
28 years to the day.
Excepting the war, of course.
All this with the merger put me out of sorts,
got me thinking.
Less ahead than behind.
I forgot for a minute it's not about me.
It's about them that turn to us for help in time of need.
Weak, defenseless, old, young.
Especially the young.
Does that mean you've reconsidered?
Win would never put up with me under her feet all day.
No, I was born a copper.
And I'll die one, I expect.
“Ensanguining the skies, how heavily it dies
“Into the west away;
“Past touch and sight and sound not further to be found,
"How hopeless under ground."
Falls the remorseful day.“
You know there's no cavalry coming.
Still time.
I won't think the less.
To the end, then?
To the end.
(gunshot)
(shouts)
Nothing you can do for him now.
The early bird, I'm afraid.
Sir!
You bastard!
Names?
Really? No bon mots?
No apposite Augustan valedictory?
I expected better from a Greats man.
Oxford material?
No.
Just a boy from the sticks
with a chip on his shoulder and a library card.
Where be yourjibes, now?
You're mad.
You can't seriously think you'll get away with this.
Actually, I think they'll pin another medal on my chest.
History is written by the victor, Morse, you know that.
Bad apples... That's you two, I'm afraid.
My version of events, at least.
And since that's all they'll have,
it's rather all that counts.
You see, when Chard told me you'd got away,
I had to improvise.
Right now every copper in the County is out looking for you.
'Pity you won't be around'
to appreciate my solution.
And there, I'm afraid,
endeth the lesson.
(gunshot)
(footsteps)
(sirens wailing)
Stay with me, sir.
Sir!
It's gonna be all right, sir.
Stay with me, sir.
Stay with me.
ANGELA: It wasn't dreams.
It was memories.
My own father...
No more dreams.
My poor lost boys.
No, no, no!
(gunshot)
STRANGE: Come on, Tommy.
We found the boy in one of the top rooms, sir.
He's no recollection how he got here.
BRIGHT: Let's get this young man back to his mother,
shall we?
Come on, Tommy, let's go.
We'll make sure you are looked after.
(sirens wailing)
He's in the best of care.
DC Morse?
Yes?
My name is Detective Inspector Gregson of Kidlington CID.
Endeavour Morse, I am arresting you
for the murder of Chief Constable Rupert Standish.
You're arresting me?
You do not have to say anything,
but anything you say will be taken down... You've made a mistake.
And can be used in evidence.
Some kind of a mistake.
Take him inside.
Get your hands off me, you've made a mistake!
Get your hands off me!
(birds chirping)
♪♪