Endeavour

Morse not with you this morning?

No, he's rung in sick.

BRIGHT: He's not been himself for quite some time.

THURSDAY: You were on the same bus as the murder victim.

If you hadn't been so drunk, we'd have a credible witness!

It's Sam-- they don't know where he is.

He's missing?

(wind howling, bus stops abruptly) Is everyone all right?

BLAKE: So this is where it all happened.

The massacre.

(woman screaming) (thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) (bus bell chimes) GRANT: All right, yes, please, and thank you.

All aboard for the last bus.

Thank you.

That's it, move right along down inside.

LINDA: Oh, wait!

All right, darling, hop on.

Bleeding brass monkeys.

(breathlessly): Ta for waiting.

Always room for one more on top.

(sighs, bell dings twice) (wind howling) (camera shutter clicks) (wind howling) GRANT: Yes, please.

Any more for Mrs. Moore?

How far are you going, then, love?

All the way, is it?

(chuckles) GRANT: Chipping Compton, end of the route.

Turnaround here for Oxford.

End of the route!

All passengers alight, please!

You'll be all right a minute?

Call of nature.

Geez... (camera shutter clicking, woman's screams echo) (wind howling) You'll get frostbite.

Hey?

You're flying tonight.

(both laugh, fly zips) Come on, then, let's get going.

(engine stops) (birds twittering) Body was found by the local beat man just after 6:00.

Do we know who he was?

Professor Patrick Stanton.

Going by an envelope in his pocket and the maths papers in his case, he was a don at Wolsey College.

Wallet's untouched, so it doesn't look to be robbery.

There's a bus ticket in his pocket says he boarded the 33 at stage two in town.

Does he live out this way?

Beat man doesn't recognize him as local.

So, visiting someone, maybe?

THURSDAY: Have to be, wouldn't he?

Bugger all else here, except for boneyard, and it's a bit late for leaving flowers.

We'll see if door-to-door gives us anyone who knows him.

Doctor.

What have we got?

Given the temperature overnight, it's quite difficult to offer a precise time.

But most likely, time of death was between 10:00 and midnight.

Cause of death would appear to be loss of blood as the result of a number of stab wounds.

I'll be able to say exactly which had been fatal after the postmortem.

What's that with his eyes?

MAX: Someone's carved a cross into each one.

Some sort of religious nutcase?

MAX: Oh.

Do you think, Sergeant?

It struck me as perhaps more clown-like.

Don't think Billy Smart's will pack in many looking like that.

The kids would run out screaming.

Signs and wonders, Chief Inspector.

Signs and wonders.

Something right up Morse's apse, I'd have thought.

Not with you this morning?

No, he's, um... ...rung in sick.

Ah.

Yes, well, there's a lot of it about this time of year.

Unless there's anything else, shall we say 2:00?

(wind howling) (groans) (exhales heavily and slowly) According to the master at Wolsey, Professor Stanton was well-liked, he'd been at the college for six years, and lived alone in North Oxford.

What about family?

A sister in Swanage.

Other than that, a single man without an enemy in the world, as far as we can make out.

And where's Morse in all of this?

One can generally depend upon him to contribute something useful.

He's off sick, sir.

He was off sick several days last month, wasn't he?

Is he seeing anyone?

Not that I know, sir.

He's just a bit run down, I expect.

I'm no fool, Thursday, and nor are you.

He's not been himself for quite some time.

That Venice business, presumably.

He blames himself, sir, for... Well, for everything, really.

It's nearly a year.

If he can't pull himself out of it... Wasn't there talk about a transfer to Kidlington at some stage?

A change of scene, leave all this behind?

There was, sir, but... Well, to be honest, I've just got used to having him around.

We're officers, Thursday.

The men come first, always.

Whatever the personal cost.

(photos rustling) Well... (exhales) This was a sustained attack.

The majority of the wounds-- Sergeant-- were to the front and back of the torso.

The wounds penetrated the aorta, the descending thoracic and abdominal areas.

Another, the left ventricle of the heart.

He really didn't stand a chance of recovery from either.

Anything on the weapon?

A large single-bladed knife about eight to 12 inches in length.

Right- or left-handed?

The injuries to the eyes aside, these were stabbing wounds, rather than slashes.

But more likely right than left.

Doctor.

So, what have we got here?

Not much.

Just his work papers, which he looks to be marking up in red ink.

And an envelope addressed to Stanton at Wolsey.

Sent the day before yesterday.

How did you make out at Chipping Compton?

It's a bit of a dead-and-alive hole.

He wasn't known to anyone of the locals.

At least, nobody recognized his name or description.

So, what was he doing there, then?

(vacuum whirring, telephone rings) (vacuum stops, ringing continues) Oxford 2831.

MAN (on phone): May I speak to Mr. Thursday?

No.

No, he's at work.

This is Mrs. Thursday.

(music playing on radio) GRANT: Doesn't ring a bell.

THURSDAY: We've a ticket says he was on your bus.

He may have been, but I don't remember him.

Many left on board by the time you got to Chipping Compton?

One or two, maybe.

Could you describe them?

The usual, innit?

Business types, academics, the odd drunk.

Courting couples, old people, students...

Anyone else?

I don't watch them thinking there's going to be a quiz.

What about you, Mr. Peckett?

I don't see much from the cab.

And it was foggy.

We was crawling all the way back.

Didn't get back till... Gone 2:00?

Anyone vouch for you?

One of the mechanics on the night shift, maybe.

And whoever you got at home, presumably.

(chuckles): My mother-in-law don't sleep so good, so I took her in her tea when I got home.

What about you, Mr. Grant?

No fear-- no little scrubber's got a ball and chain on me yet.

(laughs) Well, if you run into any passengers you recognize from last night, just point them out to DS Strange here.

He'll be traveling with you this evening.

All right?

(softly): All right.

What do you make to 'em?

Driver seems decent enough.

I wouldn't give you two bob for Quasimodo.

No, me, neither.

Show Stanton's face around to as many passengers as you can, see if it jogs any memories.

He was on that bus long enough, somebody will have seen him.

Excuse me!

Gentlemen?

Are either of you a DCI Thursday from Castle Gate Police Station?

Yeah, that's me.

A phone call for you.

(door opens and closes) DCI Thursday.

BRIGHT (on phone): Ah, Thursday.

Control Room did try to reach you in the car.

Your wife telephoned.

Asked if you could drop by home.

She said it's of some urgency.

Thank you, sir.

(hangs up) Win?

JOAN: Front room.

(door closes) What's going on?

JOAN: He's not been hurt, that's the first thing to say.

That we know of.

What do you mean?

It's Sam.

A man called, a Captain Stanhope from his unit, his regiment over there.

I wrote it all down.

He wants to know if we've heard from him.

He's missing?

Absent without leave, his officer said.

He had an afternoon pass yesterday, apparently, and he didn't return to barracks.

They don't know where he is.

(telephone ringing in background) Hello, matey.

(exhales) I wasn't sure we'd see you today-- feeling better?

Yeah, much.

Where's, uh...?

The old man?

Mm-hmm.

No, of course, you won't have heard, will you?

What?

He was last seen in a city bar, according to his C.O.

May have got involved with a local girl.

A lot of the lads have, apparently.

But nobody knows who she is.

He might have gone AWOL over her, but it'd be out of character.

If you need to go out there...

Thank you, sir, but the officer said I'd just be one more thing for them to worry about.

Well, you're to take whatever compassionate leave you need.

Mrs. Thursday will want you home, I'm sure.

Win's got our Joan looking after her, sir.

I don't think she'd want me under her feet, as well.

I'm better here, to be honest, working.

Whatever you think best, of course.

A couple of passengers have come forward to help us build a picture of who else was on the bus.

So far, we've got a business type in a bowler, mustache, 40s.

A girl, 20s, in a PVC mac and white go-go boots.

A drunk, medium height, medium build, clerk type, 30s possibly.

A younger man, a student type, reading a book.

And an elderly woman, retired, maybe.

And where was the envelope?

Inside the breast pocket of his jacket.

(papers rustling) And there was nothing in it, no letter or...?

What's there is there, matey.

Not much of a speller, though, was he, for a don?

Which, with a Y?

(footsteps approaching) You're in, then.

Feeling better?

Oh, any news on Sam?

No.

No news.

So what was the matter with you yesterday?

Ah, just something I ate.

Maybe you should get a check-up.

Oh, no, no.

I'm much better.

Really.

Well, better than this chap.

What's the story with the eyes?

Saw something he shouldn't have, maybe?

Any idea what he was doing at Chipping Compton at that time of the night?

No-- he has a place in North Oxford, but nobody we spoke to there could shed any light.

Well, he must have been meeting someone.

What do the bus crew say?

Not much-- didn't remember him.

Right, so, according to the crime board, the bus was back at the depot gone 2:00.

Does that chime with the Bundy clock?

Which?

Well, there'll be a Bundy clock here at the terminus.

The conductor turns it with his key and gets his card punched-- it's to prove the bus was there when they say it was.

I'd have thought checking that would have been a priority, to be honest.

Would you?

Well, funnily enough, we were a man down yesterday, which left us short-handed.

So... We did manage to make some headway, matey.

Even without you there to oversee our efforts.

We don't need someone coming in wise after the event to mark our homework.

(softly): No.

I can, um...

I can go and check Stanton's rooms at Wolsey, if you think it would help.

Yeah, if you like.

He had a mate killed.

Right beside him.

A fellow from his unit.

A sniper at a checkpoint.

A reprisal for what happened at Ballymurphy over the summer.

Maybe that knocked him.

It would knock anyone, wouldn't it, seeing a mate go like that?

Reprisals-- I thought we'd done with all that.

You don't expect it, is all, not in peacetime.

It was a policing job as much as anything, stop one lot killing another lot.

We went in to keep people safe.

That's why Sam was there, to keep them safe.

Now they're...

I don't understand.

MAX: What did you miss?

MORSE: Mm.

Well, besides my sparkling company and witty repartee, it's all in the report.

Yes, yes, yes, I've read the report.

But I want to hear it from you.

Not a great deal to tell.

Death by exsanguination as a result of multiple stab wounds fore and aft.

Oh, and the crosses carved on his eyes, of course.

(picks up glass) Cheers.

Now, there was one curiosity.

His last meal.

A surfeit of mints, the one with a hole.

Presumably to mask the stink from a bellyful of five-star brandy.

Maybe he was the soak on the bus.

Strange said the conductor mentioned there was a drunk, 30s, average height and build.

It could have been him.

(people talking in background, brakes squeak) (knock at door) Morse, come in.

I was just, uh, passing.

Have you heard?

Of course.

How's, uh...?

(exhales softly) And you?

I don't know.

It's silly, I...

I always thought if something happened, then I would know.

You know, feel it.

Somehow.

He's always been my little brother, you know?

Like when we were kids, if he had a fall or was getting duffed up in the playground, I'd know and I'd get to him.

And yeah, now I can't.

Well, if you need anything-- well, if there's anything I can do... Oh, Morse, I thought I heard someone.

Ah, Mrs. Thursday, I just... Just came by.

Oh, that's good of you.

We're all all right, thank you.

We don't need checking up on.

And if we did, it's Fred should be here himself, not sending his men round.

Mum!

Oh, no, I wasn't sent, Mrs. Thursday.

No.

Well... She's not herself.

Oh, please, you don't... (chuckles) (sighs) Well, you know where I am.

Morse... Keep an eye on Dad.

Of course.

(sighs) (telephone rings) Thursday.

STRANGE (on phone): It's Strange, sir.

This Bundy clock Morse was asking about.

There was an issue due to the weather, apparently.

Conductor reported the hatch was frozen shut.

On the level, do you think?

STRANGE: It was a cold night.

Freezing fog and a bit of sleet earlier in the evening.

They do freeze shut, according to the bus inspector.

THURSDAY (on phone): And another dose set for later.

Heavy snow this time, according to the wireless.

STRANGE: Yeah-- I'm going to stick on here.

Show Stanton's face around.

Right.

(bell ringing) I'll take it from here, thank you.

(door closes) (footsteps approaching) MORSE: Just back from Stanton's.

Uh, I found a letter which matches the envelope we found on his body-- there's a message on it.

"W-S-W-3-M-A- question mark."

West-southwest something, possibly?

You've four weeks' leave owing.

Mr.

Bright thinks you should take it now, and so do I.

Deal with... whatever you need to deal with.

The force has people who can help, if you need it-- places you can go.

What, um... What do you mean, places I can go?

Sir, what are you talking about?

Christ.

You want me to spell it out?

I told you, the drink's a good servant, but a poor master.

I picked your coat up from where you dropped it, and this fell out of the pocket.

What, a bus ticket?

Look at the route.

Yes, it's...

It's the 33 that I take home from work sometimes.

Look at the date-- it's two nights ago.

It says you boarded at fare stage four.

That's off the Broad.

Your home stop would be Broadwood Avenue, wouldn't it?

That's fare stage 19.

Mm-hmm.

The bottom number gives a running total of all the tickets sold that day.

Your number's 4,493.

Patrick Stanton's is 4,479.

He boarded at fare stage two.

You were on the same bus as the murder victim, and you didn't say anything.

If you hadn't been so drunk, we'd have a credible witness!

(slurring): Excuse me.

Excuse me.

Yes, mate.

Did you just say Green Lane?

Next stop-- I ride a motorbike, myself.

Excuse me, have we passed Broadwood Avenue?

Unless the driver's changed the route, yes, mate.

THURSDAY: You don't remember, do you?

You're the drunk on the bus that we've been looking for!

(slips, groans) You've grazed yourself.

(Morse groans) Those stairs are slippy.

I know-- bad enough in the dry, but when they're wet, they're murder.

Will you be all right?

Oh, yeah, fine, thank you.

(bell dings twice) THURSDAY: My old man was a devil for the drink.

It's what did for him in the end.

I'd hate to see you go the same way.

You're young, you're smart.

Break the habit before it breaks you.

He was wearing cuff links.

Stanton, um... Silver cuff links, with, uh, some kind of a number on them.

Cuff links?

Yeah, I've...

I've just, I've just remembered it.

There's a place down in Sussex run by a fella called Wain, a kind of health farm, very discreet.

He'll see you right.

There's no shame in needing help.

I don't need help!

As you like, but I'm signing you off all the same.

I've got enough on my plate with... (loudly): Take the four weeks or don't come back-- I can't use you in this shape!

(scoffs) (wind howling) STRANGE: So far, we've got a girl, 20s, in a PVC mac and white go-go boots.

(bus approaching) (bell dings) GRANT: Good evening and welcome, ladies and gentlemen-- hop on board.

That's it.

(wind howling) GRANT: Chipping Compton, is it?

LINDA: Yep.

GRANT: I remember you from the other night.

I never forget a pretty face.

Someone there to meet you, is there?

Yes, my boyfriend.

Is he?

Well, I hope he's got a nice, warm car.

'Cause you don't want to be out there in all that cold and snow freezing your little you-know-what off, do ya?

(tires skid, riders gasp) (breathing heavily, murmuring) Is everyone all right?

I think so.

(people murmuring) My head... NICHOLLS: Oh, you'd better let me take a look at that.

It's perfectly all right, I'm a doctor.

My name is Nicholls.

There, now... (grunts) Does anyone have a lighter?

(panting) (lighter opens) Thank you.

Ooh... No, no, it looks worse than it is.

Head wounds always bleed very heavily.

Just watch out for concussion.

If you feel giddy or sick, let me know, yes?

Is anyone else hurt?

(passengers respond no) BLAKE: I've got a broken heart.

You can fix that if you like.

Now, now.

PECKETT: Everybody all right?

MORSE: Your conductor's taken a bit of a knock.

But everyone else seems to be faring okay.

How about the passengers downstairs?

Nobody on the bottom deck.

Everybody come up for the warmth.

Driver, what happened?

Black ice, sir.

I, I tried to hold her, but she wouldn't respond.

We're stuck in a snowdrift, and the engine conk out.

Can you fix it?

I'm a driver, not a mechanic.

Well, someone will have to go for help.

Are you volunteering, are you, squire?

No, I'm not.

He's the driver.

His first duty is to the passengers.

My first duty is to the Oxford and District Bus Corporation.

That means this vehicle.

Well, someone will need to go.

After you, then, Captain Oates!

Look, arguing isn't going to help anything.

Is it?

Where are we?

The next stop would've been for Narracott Halt, for the station there.

MORSE: What's that, about a mile away?

Nearer two.

But you can't go out there, chief, not in this weather.

You wouldn't get 200 yards.

So, the last stop was Tafferton Park, is that right?

What of it?

Well, nothing.

Just, we can't be far from Tafferton Park Hotel.

I used to work there as a waitress.

GRANT: Tafferton Park?

Didn't it close down after that... business?

What business?

The Loomis case.

Escaped lunatic gate-crashed a fancy dress do.

Killed a whole load of people.

Grisly affair, as I recall.

Well, there might be a phone there.

After all this time, the wires have been cut, surely.

Well, it's, it's got to be better than sitting here, catching our death of cold.

GRANT: We should stay with the bus.

Somebody'll come out.

Well, I say put it to a vote.

We're not in Athens now.

Vote all you like, but this is my bus, and I'm staying with her.

And if you all got any sense, you'll do the same thing.

(passengers murmuring) WALSH: Well, I'd say that rather settles it.

(wind howling) MORSE: Are you sure you know the way from here?

I recognize the lamppost.

It's not far.

Here, you'd better have this.

Well, you lead, we'll follow.

(wind howling) BRIGHT: Still here, Thursday?

Thought you'd have been away long since.

Just, uh, waiting on Strange, sir.

He's on the 33.

Oh.

Well, perhaps... Perhaps I'll wait with you.

Unless you've any objection.

None, sir.

But he could be some time.

The weather looks to have set in.

You, you might be better getting home while you can.

I find there's less cause to hurry back these days.

Supper for one and "The World About Us."

My table talk was hardly scintillating when there was someone there to hear it.

Now I imagine it's rather less so.

And certainly one-sided.

I'll be glad of your company, then, sir.

I don't suppose there's any...?

Of Sam?

Uh, no, sir, no, not yet.

Well, that's something, perhaps.

Yes, sir, that's something.

(wind howling) LINDA: We're nearly there!

(door handle rattling) PECKETT: I told you it was a waste of time!

MORSE: Look, give me the torch and I'll go round the side.

LINDA (breathlessly): Thank you.

PECKETT: Do you see that?

Nobody listen to me.

(wind howling) (grunts) (wind howling) (exhales) (sniffles) (wind howling, people shivering) (door opens) MORSE: Come in, come in.

(all murmuring) Come on.

BRUCE-POTTER: Well done.

GRANT: Strewth.

MORSE: Now, there's no electricity.

But do you know if there's an emergency generator, Miss...?

Travers-- Linda.

I think there is a generator block among the cabins.

MORSE: Can you show me?

Of course, if you like.

Right, I'll get a fire lit.

GRANT: What about the phone?

That's what we come here for, innit?

It's dead.

I told you we should've stayed with the bus.

WALSH: We're in the dry, that's something.

There should be a box of candles somewhere.

We'd put a few out of an evening for the guests.

Mr. Churchyard said it made things cozy.

Who's Mr. Churchyard?

Uh, he was the manager.

(piano playing) BRUCE-POTTER: Perhaps we should introduce ourselves.

I really can't see there's any call for needless familiarity.

Get you!

If we're going to be here any length of time.

YEAGER: Hopefully, we won't be.

I can't imagine we'll be sending each other Christmas cards.

(exhales) It's all right, lady, I don't mind.

I have manners, even if others ain't.

Norbert Hobbs, but my friends, they call me Nobby.

Mrs. Bruce-Potter, postmistress, retired.

And what do you do?

It's like the Queen Mum.

(imitating posh accent): And what do you do?

A bit of this, a bit of that.

Jack of all trades, you might say.

What a man of mystery you are, Mr. Hobbs.

(chuckles) BLAKE: I'm Richard Blake.

My friends call me Richie-- I'm a student.

WATSON: Mrs. Watson-- Elsie.

Percy Walsh.

I'm also retired.

Previously with the Exam Board.

Linda Travers, shop assistant.

I'm John Peckett.

And this is my conductor, Les.

Very well, if you must know, my name is Yeager.

Lawrence Yeager, and I'm a solicitor.

Morse.

Just Morse?

That's right.

It's settling.

They said it would.

He'll come home, Mum.

Oh, I know he will.

I know.

There should be more in the stores.

I can have a look, if you like.

I'll come with you.

There might be some painkillers that I can give to our conductor.

MORSE: Or we can go together in a moment.

Then Miss Travers might show us where the generator block is.

BLAKE: So, this is where it all happened.

BRUCE-POTTER: All what happened?

The massacre, the Loomis boy.

Oh, I've never heard of him.

GRANT: Posh boy, wasn't he?

Some private school or other?

He went off his head and tried to do for one of the teachers, so they put him away.

BLAKE: Yeah, Strangmoor, he ended up-- Headington Hill?

A year later, Loomis and another prisoner escaped from a van taking them back to the hospital from court.

Loomis made his way here, killed one of the guests, and went round in the dead man's fancy dress murdering anyone that took his eye.

You seem to know an awful lot about it.

Well, I read a book on it by a fella called Fitzowen.

Yes, well, I really don't think it's something to dwell on this evening.

GRANT: We've got to do something to pass the time.

Might as well be a story around the campfire.

God, my head!

Maybe you should lie down, Les, huh?

What became of him, Loomis?

He was caught and sent back to Strangmoor, I believe.

BLAKE: He was.

Only, before the case came to trial, he killed himself.

WATSON: That's a horrible story.

And I don't know why anyone would want to tell it here and now-- Miss Travers was a waitress here, weren't you?

For all we know, it happened during her time.

Right, which way's the bar?

Presumably, there is one.

(chuckles) If I might suggest we all stay together for the moment.

What, in case a bogeyman gets us?

(laughs) Miss Travers, after you.

(piano resumes) (Morse exhales) Mind your step.

When were you last here?

Oh, a long time ago.

I only did six months or something.

If I remember, this should be it.

NICHOLLS: The place is like the Mary Celeste.

As if whoever was here had just stepped out for a minute.

How long did you say it had been closed?

Uh, eight years, it must be now.

February '63.

Is that when you were here?

It's not really something I like to talk about.

NICHOLLS: No, of course not.

I'm sorry, that was thoughtless of me to ask.

Here they are.

There's not many left, but they should last us if we're careful.

If you... give me a light...

...I'll find my own way back.

If you want to push on and see about the generator.

Hm.

(wind howling outside) (door closes) (wind howling) (door closes) Right, which way?

To the right.

(whispers): Bingo.

(clicking tongue) (exhaling softly) (inhales sharply) Oh, lovely.

(chuckles) (object bangs loudly) (Morse groans softly) (groaning) Are you all right?

Yeah.

(Morse exhales) MORSE: So, have you, uh, have you any idea how this thing works?

Not really.

Well, how difficult can it be?

I'm sure she wasn't being rude, Dr. Nicholls, earlier.

No, I know.

It's only natural people are curious.

But they wouldn't be if they'd been here.

Yeah, I'm sure.

I was 14.

My mum and dad let me do a little bit of waitressing for pocket money.

We didn't really know what was going on for a while.

People just disappeared.

One of the guests, a waitress.

You just thought they were off enjoying themselves somewhere.

But he'd got them.

Even poor Mr. Churchyard.

And then the police were here and...

They got him.

The place closed down that night and never reopened.

Well, who'd want to come here?

BRIGHT: Gruesome business, Thursday.

THURSDAY: There's something about it rings a bell, sir, but I'm damned if I know what it is.

An old case, perhaps?

If it is, it wasn't one of mine.

(elevator dings, doors open) You're back early.

The service has been canceled due to the snow.

All quiet, Sergeant?

Dead as, sir.

I rode the outbound 33 out to the terminus, stayed aboard, came all the way back again.

At least the late's been canceled.

Saves you the bother of changing.

No late service, maybe.

But there was a 33 still running.

Morse was on it.

Morse was?

He's on leave as of this afternoon.

Well, he was there, sir.

I don't think he saw me.

But I saw him.

Maybe he was just catching the bus home like a civilian.

It goes by his way, doesn't it?

STRANGE: It does, sir.

Any event, he's left his car in the yard.

BRIGHT: Well, perhaps he didn't fancy his chances behind the wheel in this weather.

And I can't say as I blame him.

No, sir.

Well, if all your strays are gathered in, Thursday, I, uh, I might cut along home.

Yes, sir, I'll just give the case another pipeful.

I wouldn't leave it too late, sir.

The roads are getting pretty bad, and the wireless says this is set to go through till morning, at least.

Mind how you go.

(elevator bell dings, doors open) (wind howling, gas pouring) Should we give it a try?

(generator starts slowly) Ah!

(chuckles) You were on the 33 bus, weren't you, the night before last?

So was I. Yeah, I was meeting my boyfriend at Chipping Compton.

He lives in Henley, but he drives up to meet me halfway.

Did you hear about that chap that was found dead?

It was in all the papers.

Yeah, I read about it.

Did you see him on the bus?

I don't know-- I might have done if I knew what he looked like.

But when you got off at Chipping Compton, you didn't see him?

I fell asleep.

And when I woke up, the bus was empty.

It was only the conductor shouting for "all change" that brought me round.

Shall we get back to the others?

Ah, yes, let's.

(playing piano) Any luck?

(switch flips) (gasping, murmuring happily) YEAGER: Oh, I say, well done.

Where's everyone else?

BRUCE-POTTER: The conductor wasn't feeling very well.

Bang on his head, I suppose, so the driver took him upstairs to see if there was somewhere he could lie down.

That's more like it.

No, no, there's someone else.

Um, Mr. Hobbs.

He went to find the bar.

Hm.

PECKETT: Oh...

So, you got the lights working, then?

How's your conductor?

Not good.

Him have a bad headache.

But I settle him down.

The fella not back with the drinks yet?

No, no, not yet.

(door creaking and slamming, wind howling) MAX: Someone's carved crosses on his eyes.

Signs and wonders, Chief Inspector.

Signs and wonders.

(dialing) (phone calling out) Miss Frazil?

DCI Thursday.

I wonder if I could pick your brains.

It's about an old County case, eight years ago.

A rather disturbed young man called Warren Loomis.

(door closes) (flask unscrews) (flask closes, Morse sniffles) (sniffs) (whispers): Stop.

(steps, glass crunches) What do you mean he's not there?

Well, there's a broken bottle on the floor behind the bar and fresh blood on the mirror.

So, him drop a bottle.

Maybe him cut himself and went to clean up.

Or maybe he thought better of staying here and went for help.

That's unlikely, I would have thought, without his overcoat.

I can help you find him, if you're worried.

MORSE: No, I, I can manage.

Thank you.

Please, all just try to stay together.

At least until I return.

(footsteps retreating) Well, he's a funny so-and-so, isn't he?

Highly strung, I'd have said.

PECKETT: He's a drunk.

What, you couldn't smell it on him?

Oh, really, you can't go around saying things like that about people.

There was a broken bottle, wasn't there?

PECKETT: He's a drunkard, I'm telling you.

My conductor knew him straight off.

He was on the bus two nights back.

Didn't even know what day of the week it was, let alone him stop.

She know.

You must have seen him, tell them.

Oh, I don't remember, really.

PECKETT: He took a stumble down the stairs getting off.

(smacks lips) WALSH: Any sign?

Uh, no.

No, not yet.

Probably just having a bit of an explore, uh, wouldn't you think?

Perhaps.

(telephone rings) Cowley Bus Depot, Driver Faradoon speaking.

Has the last 33 out running returned to the depot?

No, sir, we've had reports the roads around Chipping Compton are impassable, so she might be a while.

If she gets back at all.

What are the passengers meant to do?

Whoever's on the 33 will just have to sit tight and wait it out.

Was there anything else, sir?

If that 33 comes back, could you get word to Detective Chief Inspector Thursday at Castle Gate?

Certainly.

Good night, then, sir.

Good night.

(wind howling) (knob turns) (door creaking) (bells jangling softly, material rustling) (door creaking) (bells jangling softly) WALSH: Regular run for you, is it, the 33 route?

No, not particularly-- you?

I was coming to Haddonfield to visit an old pal.

Oh, yes?

You don't think something really has happened to him, do you?

I don't know.

So, what's your line, Mr. Morse?

I'm a, I'm a civil servant.

Oh, yes?

Mm-hmm.

What department?

I only ask because quite a few of my boys went into the Civil Service.

Your boys?

Oh, my former pupils.

I was a teacher before the Exam Board.

Goldwater, Netherbridge, Gunderby.

(object bangs) (object bangs again) (knife bangs, door creaks) PECKETT: Oh, there you are.

You find him yet?

MORSE: No, no, not yet.

What are you up to?

I left my refreshment on the bus.

(chuckles): I can't go through to the morning without no food in my belly.

And I thought Les might want something, so, but I'll be damned if I can find an opener.

Well, I think you should, uh, I think you should go back to the hall.

Look, I don't mean to disrespect a passenger, huh?

But you mind your business and I will mind mine, all right?

I just meant until we find Mr. Hobbs.

I think you should be careful, that's all.

Of what, now?

There was a passenger murdered off the 33 bus, wasn't there, the night before last, your bus?

Uh-huh, yes.

The same bus you were drunk as a lord on.

So, if anyone wants to be careful, I would say it's you!

This Hobbs has probably gone back into town, for all we know, and you carrying on like he's murdered?

What are you trying to do to my passengers, huh?

You trying to scare them half to death?

(sucks teeth) (knife bangs) I never wanted him to go in the Army.

That's all your talk, giving him ideas.

"The war this, the war that."

THURSDAY: Winnie...

WIN: He shouldn't be out there.

What's it his business with these people?

I mean, who are they to us, anyway?

He should be home, here!

Win... No!

If anything happened to him, you're responsible.

Not them!

They don't know any better!

I wonder if any of you do!

Do you like Hawkwind?

LINDA: I don't know.

What's that?

BLAKE: They're a band.

I saw them in the summer at this festival down in Somerset.

They just got a new album out.

Oh.

(footsteps approach) Any luck?

No, I'm afraid not.

Nope, nothing.

Excuse me.

Hey, man, I'm not sure you should be doing that.

That's a man's private things.

(gasps) The damned cheek.

Dad.

It's not only Sam, is it?

Jim Strange saw Morse on the 33 earlier this evening.

It's, uh, not got back to the depot, and, what with this weather and... You're not worried, are you?

He's not been right.

He came by earlier.

Who, Morse?

This afternoon.

Just to see if there was anything he could do.

(knock at door) Your mum never said.

(front door opens, Win and Dorothea speaking) She's not herself.

(door opens) Miss Frazil, you know our daughter, Joan.

Of course, hello.

Uh, would you like a cup of tea?

Oh, um...

I fancy Miss Frazil would sooner something stronger.

Whiskey do you?

Always, thank you.

(sighs): How are you?

Oh, really, there was no need for you to come out in weather like this, a phone call would have done.

I'm rather afraid it wouldn't.

(wind howling) Does anyone play cards?

We could kill an hour or two with bridge or canasta, if anyone fancied it.

Do you have any cards?

No, but...

I mean, it's a hotel, isn't it?

They must have cards.

They keep all the cards and games in the library bar.

I can fetch a pack, if you like.

It might take our minds off the situation.

NICHOLLS: I don't think you should go.

It's all right, I know my way around.

I'll be back before you know it.

Well, if we're stretching our legs, where did you say the ladies was?

You saw the letter that that drunken busybody Morse pulled out.

What do you think's happened?

To Hobbs?

I haven't the faintest.

But if you're asking me to put my shirt on it, which you rather are, I'd say somebody's got it in for us, wouldn't you?

All of us, you mean?

All of us who are left.

I'll watch your back if you watch mine.

But herkos odonton, hm?

(door opens) Mind if I join you?

Uh, snooker isn't really a game for three, Mr. Blake.

I'm happy to watch.

As may be, but one might not be happy to be watched.

You might put Mr. Yeager off his stroke.

And that would never do.

Bugger you, then.

(clicks tongue) (door opens) (clears throat) I wondered where you'd got to.

You all right?

Mm-hmm.

What do you, uh, what do you make of this?

I don't know.

I suppose it looks rather like a tallyman's account book, or that of a debt collector.

Though I would expect to see a list of monies owed, and that's not there.

Why?

What am I meant to make of it?

I don't know, it's what I found in Hobbs' coat.

Yes, well, you should probably replace it, shouldn't you?

I doubt it has any bearing on his whereabouts.

And I can't think he'll thank you for rifling his pockets.

Besides, it's not done to take things that don't belong to one.

Didn't your mother ever tell you that?

(chuckles) Oh, God.

You really are in a bad way, aren't you?

(wind blowing, floor creaking) (shivering) (music playing faintly) DOROTHEA: So, looking at contemporary accounts, it seems that, on the night in question, Warren Loomis and another patient, Flavian Creech, were being brought back from respective committal hearings to Strangmoor, when the vehicle they were traveling in went off the road.

Creech?

That's, um...

Beast of Belgravia.

A.K.A.

the Devourer, self-styled Apostle of Hell.

Murderer, necrophile, and alleged cannibal.

Good to his mother, no doubt.

Kept her head in a hatbox.

The psychiatrist who first examined him described Creech as the most dangerous man he'd ever met.

A creature wholly without conscience.

I remember.

"The epitome of evil," wasn't that the phrase?

Yet he clearly had a liking for the Loomis boy, and took him under his wing at Strangmoor.

They engineer the crash, do you think?

Or was that just bad luck?

Never established.

Weather was poor, much like tonight.

February '63, the Big Freeze, icy roads.

It's a wonder any of the party guests managed to get to Tafferton Park at all.

In hindsight, I imagine they rather wished they hadn't.

Any luck?

With Hobbs?

No, no, not yet.

He's done a bunk, I told you.

Probably didn't fancy spending the rest of the night in this khazi.

(music playing in distance) Ooh!

I say.

That's Johnny Divine, isn't it?

(Travers screaming) (screaming, music playing) His eyes, his eyes!

What's happened to his eyes?!

Oh, my God!

(power cuts out, people gasp and scream) You're safe here, you're all right.

It's going to be all right.

YEAGER: Yeah, it's not all right, though, is it?

What the hell are you telling her that for?!

MORSE: Control yourself.

Don't give me bloody orders!

You've no authority here, Mr. Morse!

Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

Well, if you're a policeman, why didn't you say anything before now?

Because I was hoping that I wouldn't have to.

What is going on?

MORSE: Mr. Hobbs has been killed.

YEAGER: Killed?

He's in the ballroom with his throat cut, and crosses carved into his face where his eyes should be!

His eyes!

It's like what happened to Mr. Churchyard.

That night with Loomis, that's what he did!

Loomis is dead, though, isn't he?

He died, he killed himself.

YEAGER: So, either there's some lunatic creeping around the hotel that we don't know about, or whoever did that... You can't mean it's one of us.

It stands to reason, doesn't it?

MORSE: I'm... (clears throat): I'm gonna look at the generator.

I suggest you all stay within sight of each other until I return.

What if something happens to you?

Why should you take the risk?

He's a policeman-- it's what he's paid for, right?

Yes, that's right, it's what I'm paid for, Mr. Yeager.

(opens drawers) BLAKE: How is she, Doctor?

Out cold.

She's had a terrible shock, Mr. Blake.

Sleep and rest is the best thing for her.

Anybody coming with me to check on Les?

I can, if you like.

No, no, don't worry, Mrs. Bruce-Potter.

I should see how his head's doing.

But, um, I'd be glad if you'd keep an eye on Miss Travers.

Of course.

I'll keep you company.

The three of us, then.

For safety.

WALSH: Is he upstairs?

PECKETT: Yeah, follow me.

Well, if you all think I'm going to sit here waiting to be picked off by this bloody madman, you've got another thing coming.

But this Sergeant Morse said we should all stick together.

I don't need anybody's permission to defend myself.

If somebody wants to come for me, they'll get more than they bargained for.

I'm going to find Sergeant Morse.

Um... (gas sloshing lightly) (breathes deeply) (breathing deeply) (gas sloshing heavily) You're leaving?

I'll send back help.

For everyone.

I'm sure none of us want to be here any more than you, Mrs. Watson.

But in this weather, you'll catch your death.

I'll take my chances.

I can't stay here.

Right, this way.

(doorknob rattles) It wasn't lock when I check on him.

Les?

(doorknob rattles) It's John, open the door.

Maybe he's taken a turn for the worse.

You'll have to put it in.

I can't do that, it's private property.

Les!

(knocking on door, rattling knob) Can you hear me?

Open the door!

(sighs): Thank heavens.

Perhaps we should wait for the police officer, if something's happened.

I'm just a retired teacher.

I don't have the authority for something like this.

Sergeant Morse should be here.

Where is everybody?

What were they doing leaving the girl alone?

For God's sake!

MORSE: Is this all of you?

WALSH: Uh, looks that way.

Miss Travers.

What's going on?

It's all right.

You fell asleep, you've had a nasty shock.

I want to go home.

We need to see about Les.

We just went to check on him, but his door was locked.

I could stay with her, if you can go with Mr. Peckett.

No, we'll all go together, all of us.

As County pieced it together, the first victim that night was a guest named Roland Parker, who was found dead in his room.

And it was Parker's fancy dress outfit which Loomis put on to move freely among the other guests.

Where the hell has he gone?

WALSH: He must've gone out of the window.

PECKETT: He was in no fit shape for that, eh, Doc?

You saw the state of him.

NICHOLLS: He'd had a bang on the head, Mr. Peckett.

That was all.

Well, something has happened, I am telling you.

(door slams, Nicholls gasps) (bells jingle) (rattling handle) (drawers opening and closing, bells jingle) (bells jingle) So, what do you think you're looking at with Stanton?

Someone emulating Loomis's handiwork?

It's odd, though, isn't it?

Of all the victims at Tafferton Park that night, only Churchyard had crosses carved onto his eyes.

What are you thinking?

Could Creech have been there with Loomis, do you think?

No reply from Morse's.

But according to the operator, the snow's brought down cables all over town.

Jim's going to look in on his place, see if he's back.

Right.

(wind howling) (door closes, footsteps shuffling) NICHOLLS: Mr. Blake?

(Blake shivering violently) MORSE: Are you all right?

PECKETT: Oh, my God!

Are you okay?

Fetch the blankets, get him by the fire.

We must get him warmed through, he's frozen half to death.

All right, come on, this way.

Come on.

(shivering): I went to find you.

I lost my way.

Me?

I didn't think I was going to get back.

I waved, didn't you see me?

I saw one of you.

Thought you were coming after me.

Watch your... You didn't recognize who it was?

It was just a shadow in the snow.

Well, fingers crossed they'll find their own way back.

And if not, then we can send out a search party.

Uh, Dr. Nicholls, we should let him settle, and then you and I go and examine Mr. Hobbs's body.

All right?

Yes.

Thanks for coming.

I'm not sure I've been any help.

If you want to get to the bottom of this, there's only one person left alive knows what truly happened at Tafferton Park.

And that's Flavian Creech.

Good night.

Good night.

(door opens and closes) (picks up keys) (car starts outside) I have to see a patient at Strangmoor Hospital.

It's urgent.

Who's this for?

Morse?

It's Sam you should be out there looking for.

That's who you should "have to," your own.

Our son, my son, not somebody else's!

Why aren't you over there?

I'll tell you why-- because you're a coward!

That's why.

If anything's happened to him... Mum, don't say that.

You keep out of this!

I'll say what I please in my own house.

And I will thank you not to take sides!

I'm not one of those women at work that you think you can talk down to.

You think you know it all, with your books and your courses and your clever ideas.

And where did that get you?

Leamington!

Don't!

Please... What does that mean?

Never mind what it means!

You weren't so bloody clever there, were you?

No.

I'm your mother, and you will give me the respect that I'm due!

Well, go if you're going!

And if you are going, don't bother coming back.

Because I'm sick of the sight of you!

(door slams) She doesn't mean it.

Yeah, she does.

(exhales) And she's right.

Doing nothing.

Bearing it.

That takes a different kind of guts.

But I'm no good at sitting and waiting, I never have been.

If I could do something to help find Sam... Of course you would!

She knows that, we all know that.

I'd tear the world down to bring him home safe.

Give it my last breath.

But I can't.

There's nothing I can do, nothing.

(voice breaking): And that...

But if I can't fix the one thing, I've got to fix the other.

You know how I am.

Sam's always taken after your mum.

Slow to anger and quick to forgive.

But you and me, we're...

I know.

(door closes, Joan exhales) What happened out at Chipping Compton the other night?

I'm not interested in any petty rule-breaking with the Bundy clock, say, but if there's anything which has a bearing on what's happening here.

He's got a woman.

Les.

Her old man work away in the week.

So, while I'm having my break, Les is...

I turn a blind eye for him, that is all!

Mm-hmm.

How long was he gone?

Half an hour.

45 minutes.

Well, there's no great mystery as to the cause of death.

Someone cut his throat.

Most likely from behind.

The injuries to his eyes-- and I'm no pathologist-- but I'd say they were inflicted postmortem.

What about his pockets?

Well, at least we know now what the book was about.

He's not a tallyman or a debt collector.

He's an agent for Zennons Football Pools.

The street names and numbers must have been his rounds.

The address on the envelope in his jacket pocket.

Isis House, Abingdon Lane.

That's a probation hostel.

Perhaps he was in prison.

Oh, hello.

There is something else.

A cuff link.

Engraved, number 37.

What about his other pocket?

(exhales) Oh, good heavens.

22.

PECKETT: Do you think we should cover him?

Use a tablecloth or something, just... Just lay it over him.

(utensils clanking) (places utensils down) (quietly): Walsh.

(quietly): "When the hurly-burly's done."

(car approaching) I killed a policeman once.

He came asking for a missing boy I'd been... ...enjoying.

Door-to-door.

(chuckles) Why do coppers call it that?

Do you all secretly aspire to be commercial travelers?

Knock-knock-knocking on suburban housewives' doors with your, with your little sample cases, filled with shoes, or brassieres, or soap, or whatever it may be.

I had a sample case.

But I didn't keep bits of vacuum cleaners in it.

No.

You kept bits of people in it.

(bells jingling faintly) WALSH: There's somebody just gone up the stairs.

What?

Didn't either of you see it?

No.

(bells jingling faintly) Did you hear that?

It's, it's bells.

(bells jingling) Fetch the others.

Come quick, you've got to come!

He's seen someone!

Who has?

Mr. Walsh.

I should've gone after him, but I don't feel so good.

Well, what did you see?

I don't know, it was Walsh that saw it.

He went upstairs.

Which way did he go?

Left, he went left.

That was taken yesterday morning.

A man carved up with crosses for eyes.

Exactly the same as one of Warren Loomis's victims at Tafferton Park.

Not just any man.

Hobbs is out on parole, then, eh?

Who's Hobbs?

The least of them.

The least of who?

All I can tell you is that you can expect three more of them.

If it hasn't happened already.

I shouldn't think they'll let the grass grow.

Who wouldn't?

The Furies.

Three goddesses of vengeance who punished uncalled criminals.

(chuckles) (sighs) Warren.

My poor little rich boy.

Scholarship boy, is what he was.

I read the case files.

Loomis wasn't rich.

(chuckles) Yes, he was.

Or he should have been.

(whispering): See, that's what they really put him away for.

Who did?

Who put him away?

There were four of them.

And Churchyard.

(wind howling) (bells jingling) (bells jingling) (Yeager gasps, Morse yelps) (sputtering) Who did this?

Yeager, what happened?

(gags, gasps) What happened?

(bells jingling) (bells stop) Jim.

Come in.

Did try to get you on the blower, but the lines must be down.

I went by Morse's, but the place is in darkness and he's not answering the door.

I wouldn't fret.

(exhales) He usually lands butter side up.

(exhales) So... How is everyone?

And, more to the point, how are you?

Um... (voice trembling): I'm sorry.

(crying): I'm sorry, I'm just... Hey... (sobbing) Hey, now.

I've got you.

It's all right.

I've got you, don't worry.

(sobs) There now.

There, there.

It'll all be all right.

I've got you.

(exhales) Sh...

Someone should go and see if Sergeant Morse is all right.

I'll go.

No, no, you'd better wait here.

Mr. Blake and Miss Travers are in no fit state to defend themselves.

And I'll be careful.

Believe me.

Here.

You'd better knock this back.

It'll warm you right through.

(gasps) (bells jingling) (whispering): You've got to get out of here, now.

(whispering): What's going on?

I don't know, but I think it's something to do with the Loomis case.

The masquerade?

No, it wasn't just a masquerade, it was a school reunion.

You think Loomis came here seeking revenge on the boys who had bullied him?

His classmates, no, but the old boys, maybe.

Look, I don't know, but I just know whatever Loomis started in '63, someone's come here now to help him finish it.

You were there that night at Tafferton Park.

Well, what can I say?

Many hands make light work.

What were the eyes about?

A religious thing?

Mm, just crosses.

What did you see him as, Loomis?

A kind of apprentice?

(blows) Uh... A disciple.

But he didn't have the nerve for it, did he?

That's why he stopped at Churchyard.

If Loomis did for Churchyard at all.

Warren had a great head for figures before they burned it out of him.

But no stomach for... (quietly): ...wet work.

Huh?

(chuckles) They were all at Tafferton Park for the do.

Of course they were, hm?

It was the big night they'd all been waiting for.

Yeah, the payoff.

(chuckles) So, it fell to me to put things right for him.

The manager was easy to find, 'cause he was in the office, but I didn't know what the others looked like, and... Well, I got... distracted.

Tell me about his family.

Please.

(sighs) The color supplement sent a snapper to capture "Life in the Nuthatch."

(chuckles, smacks lips) Our headshrinker was very taken with the results, as you can see.

I'm not allowed into the gardens.

But Warren had visitors that day.

It's the picture on the right.

He'd a sister.

Their grandmother brought her every weekend.

I think Nana was a bit camera-shy.

(wind howling outside) Is he out?

Cold.

Get to the road and just keep going.

When you get to the first house, call the police.

Go, go!

WATSON: Stop, stop!

(groans) Here, get in, get in.

GRANT: More fares?

Any more fares?

(shivering): Any more fares?

Move right along down inside.

Inside.

Next stop.

That's it.

All right?

Yes, please, thank you!

THURSDAY: You're safe now, I'm a police officer.

GRANT: Room for one more... THURSDAY: You're safe.

You're safe, all right?

You'd better let me tend to him.

Oh, right?

Move along.

Oh, Dr. Nicholls.

DCI Thursday, Doctor.

Thames Valley.

It's all right.

THURSDAY: There's a woman in my car needs attending to, as well.

You wouldn't by any chance have seen my sergeant?

(safe handle rattling, grunting) Your concern for your friend's very, um, touching.

But it'd help if you were in the right safe.

That's the safe for the hotel guests.

The manager's personal safe is behind that painting there.

What the hell are you talking about?

You know what I'm talking about.

As did Yeager here.

And Hobbs and Stanton.

Now, my guess is that it's something to do with Loomis and whatever's hidden in that safe these past eight years.

(laughing): What?

You can either tell me now, or you can tell them.

But I'm the only one standing here between them doing to you what they've done to the rest of your little cabal.

(laughing): Oh, what, what little cabal?

Actually, it's WYCH cabal, isn't it?

W-Y-C-H. That's what was written on the back of the envelope inviting Stanton to Chipping Compton.

I assume he thought the letter came from you.

One of who?

W-Y-C-H. Walsh, Yeager, Churchyard, Hobbs.

Now, considering Churchyard is dead, that little cabal.

Why would he think the invitation came from us?

The code.

WSW3MA?

All right, I was stumped at first.

But I saw your name on the seating plan.

(scoffs) House Cawdor.

WSW3MA?

"When shall we three meet again?"

For Stanton, it was the terminus of the 33 bus.

Last bus of the night.

I know that because I was on it, and I saw him.

(groaning) Now, there are two people still alive in this hotel who were also on that bus.

GRANT: End of the route!

All passengers alight, please!

You'll be all right a minute?

Call of nature.

Oh, gosh, are you all right?

(gasps, grunts) (yelping) Let's get him off the path.

My invitation to take the 33 to Haddonfield arrived this morning.

And I thought it had came from him and that we were to speak about Stanton's death when we met.

And supposedly he thought his invitation came from you or Hobbs.

But why didn't you sit by each other on the bus?

WALSH: Never acknowledge one another in public, those were the rules.

At first, I thought it must be some kind of macabre coincidence that we'd all ended up here in this bloody hotel.

No, I don't think it's a coincidence.

I think whoever sent those invitations never intended for you to get to Haddonfield.

I think the hotel was always the intended terminus.

(bells jingling nearby) Now, look, if you want to get out of here alive, I suggest you come with me, now.

So, what is it with these cuff links?

Look, I know the who and the how of it, I just need to know the why of it.

I don't know what you mean.

If I've got some bargaining power, I might be able to save your skin.

Stanton had ten numbers on a blackboard in his room.

Since then, I've seen six of those numbers on three sets of cuff links.

First, on Stanton.

Second, in Churchyard's desk.

Third, in Hobbs's pockets.

Presumably, the final pair belong to you and Yeager.

So, tell me, what does it mean?

(Walsh gasps) I thought you were a detective, Sergeant Morse.

Haven't you figured it out yet?

The numbers on the cuff links mark each man out as a member of the football pools syndicate.

Uh, eight from ten.

The most popular pools bet.

You put a cross on the coupon next to ten football fixtures, and hope that at least eight result in a score draw.

Five men, two numbers each.

Presumably, the winning line.

Mm.

There was a pools coupon used as a bookmark in Stanton's rooms.

One of the winners was a Mr. C. from Oxford.

Churchyard, presumably.

Not so fast, Walsh.

(gasps) We go together.

LINDA: Go on, Sergeant, you're so close.

So, what Churchyard has locked in his safe these past eight years is a cash prize from a win on the pools.

Bravo!

Only, to prevent any one person being able to make off with all the winnings, Stanton devised a double-blind system that broke up the combination among the syndicate.

WALSH (trembling): It could only be opened when all five of us were gathered together.

Stanton said it was foolproof.

Yes, I'm sure it would have been, had Churchyard not been killed.

LINDA: Whatever part he knew went with him to his death.

Which prevented anyone else from gaining access to the money.

BRUCE-POTTER: They might have been able to work it out if they'd shared what they knew.

But avarice breeds mistrust.

Hobbs wasn't going to confide his part while they were at liberty and he wasn't.

He was in prison?

Eight years, fraud.

The rest of them didn't know how to blow a safe without destroying its contents.

MORSE: So, where did Loomis fit in to this?

My grandson was born with a gift, Sergeant.

An almost supernatural ability to see patterns in random data sets.

Sets of data?

Such as what?

Such as several seasons' worth of football results.

MORSE: You mean, he came up with a method of predicting the pools.

He said the numbers danced for him.

BRUCE-POTTER: He demonstrated his gift to a schoolmaster.

I thought it was a joke.

I mean, we'd been doing the pools for years.

And the idea that a boy could have better luck... Oh, you must have thought you were on to your own rocking horse winner.

LINDA: Except it wouldn't do for a teacher to be found out enriching himself at the expense of a pupil.

Which is where Churchyard came in.

He put the pools coupon in under his own name on behalf of the syndicate so that Warren wouldn't realize that he'd been betrayed by Walsh and the rest.

Or so they thought.

The first we knew of any of it was when the school rang to say Warren had attacked Walsh in some violent and psychotic fit and been sent to Strangmoor.

It was his word against a teacher.

BRUCE-POTTER: Meanwhile, the money had already been claimed by Churchyard, so there was no way to connect it to Walsh or the rest of them.

LINDA: A year they let the money cool in the safe.

A year, waiting for the fuss to blow over, while Warren was dismissed as a disturbed and violent fantasist.

But Linda found a coded message between Churchyard and the rest of them in the office.

Pertaining to the reunion.

That's when they were meant to divvy up the spoils.

Only, my brother got to them first.

MORSE: So that's why you carved crosses on Stanton's eyes and the rest of them.

You were following your brother's example.

Well, I'm afraid I'm going to have to deny you your last pair.

PECKETT: We don't want to hurt you, Sergeant Morse.

It's him we want.

MORSE: What is a bus driver to do with this, Mr. Peckett?

THURSDAY: He was an orderly at Strangmoor.

DCI Thursday, Thames Valley.

I've just come from talking to Creech there now.

Warren told me his story at the time, but I didn't believe him.

After he kill himself, it didn't sit easy with me, so I look up the family, and they convinced me of the truth of it.

I don't suppose 190,000 quid came into it.

We'd no hope of that money, sir, even though it was the family's by right.

This was about justice.

Justice?

But Walsh and the rest stole from Warren.

They didn't kill him.

BRUCE-POTTER: They may not have held the blade that slashed his wrists, but they killed my grandson just as surely as if they had.

THURSDAY: So, what now?

(sirens blaring) Still want to get away with it?

You'll have to do us all in.

THURSDAY: Right!

MORSE: Give it here, give me the knife.

THURSDAY: Get these three in costume into a Maria now!

OFFICER: You heard the DCI.

Fall to!

MORSE: Get a car for this one.

On what charge?

MORSE: I'll think of something.

We'll need an ambulance for Mr. Blake here!

(people shouting faintly) There any news?

On Sam?

No, sir.

No, not yet.

(softly): Ah.

(birds twittering) (exhales) Could you, uh, brief Mr.

Bright this once?

I, I've got to get back to the family.

Yes, yes, yes, of course.

(exhales) (birds twittering) Sir?

I will take those four weeks, if the offer's still there.

As long as you need.

(chuckles) (birds twittering) Beginning to thaw.

(chuckles) The sun always comes up.

Just got to hold on for it a bit longer sometimes, is all.

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