I'm Alan Cumming, and this is Masterpiece Mystery!

(rock music playing) ♫Baby!♫ ♫Why'd you have to go and leave me that way?♫ ♫Baby!♫ Bow down before the Midnight Addiction.

They were stars-- huge stars.

You're dead.

I've come back, baby.

They're reforming the band.

Are we good?

Better than good.

We could be again.

Not if one of you's a murderer.

What sort of man do you think I am?

It's blood, isn't it?

Is it human?

Richie has nothing to hide from you, pig.

This is where he was killed.

Inspector Lewis, tonight on Masterpiece Mystery!

Captioning sponsored by VIEWERS LIKE YOU (thunder) Sunday in Oxford-- a haven of respectability and quiet.

Inspector Robbie Lewis is just trying to have a microwave dinner for one.

He doesn't want to be disturbed for anything less than murder.

But he's called out about a complaint that an aging rock star is shooting game on his estate, against the law on Sunday.

The rocker used to have a band, Midnight Addiction.

It was huge in the '60s.

"Huge!"

Lewis tells young Sergeant Hathaway.

Hathaway has a hard time thinking of his modest senior partner as a fan of promiscuous, stoned-out, mind-blowing rock and roll, but, of course, he was.

Everyone was in those days.

Youth, sex, drugs, rock and roll.

And on a Sunday in historic Oxford, the past is suddenly not only alive, the dead return and want to live it all over again.

DECLAN: Mr. Bell, sir.

Permission to suggest a game, sir.

You are playing a game, Declan.

One we can play with you, sir.

What did you have in mind exactly?

Get the door, Lucas!

BELL: No!

Please!

Declan, please!

You hide in here, Bell, and we'll spring-clean your office.

LUCAS: What's up?

You visiting Bell some pedo website, get him nicked?

Nah, I am doing academic research on my behalf.

And if I have time, baby boy, yours.

(pauses on chord) (laughter) DECLAN: Hey, Lucas, you've got family.

VICAR: Likewise, after supper, He took the cup.

And when He had given thanks to Thee, He gave it to them, saying, "Drink ye all of this, "for this is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for you..." (gunshots in the distance) VICAR: Draw near with faith.

Receive the body of our Lord Jesus Christ... (gunshot in distance) ...which He gave for you, and His blood, which He shed for you.

(gunshot) Missed.

(cell phone ringing) It's Sunday.

HATHAWAY (on phone): Sorry, sir, do I find you at prayer?

I'm not stirring on a Sunday for anything less than murder.

Well, I've got a vicar who's a bit cross.

Will that do?

(sighs) It's all right.

It's not all right, Esmé.

You're dead.

Yeah, I was, but...

I've come back, baby, to you.

Esmé.

(church bell ringing) Were you aware, sir, that it's against the law to shoot game on a Sunday?

Yeah.

Can I go to the pub now?

Okay, where's this stroppy vicar?

Behind you.

Are you the fellow in charge?

Around here, it's debatable.

One doesn't expect levity from a policeman where firearms are concerned.

I want to show you something.

ARMSTRONG: Thirteen separate incidents.

Thirteen separate complaints.

Just because the man's a ruddy pop star... Have you actually spoken to Mr. MacKay about this?

Maguire.

Richie Maguire.

No, can't get anywhere near the wretched man.

That's why I called you.

Bow down before the Midnight Addiction.

Absolutely.

Well, I use the word "absolutely" in a purely private sense, meaning "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Airplane.

The Dead.

The Addiction.

Same breath.

The iconography of my youth.

Richie, Esmé, Franco, Mack.

You're talking in tongues, sir.

Members of the band.

They were stars.

(glass shatters) I've always wanted to see someone do that in real life.

Jo, this is Esmé Ford.

Oh, my God.

Where do you fit into all this, Jo?

Are you Richie's daughter?

Oh no, no, no, I'm staff.

Oh.

I'm the butler.

Bone, get on the blower to Franco.

Jo, ten minutes, then bring champagne.

Jacinta will clear it up.

ESMEÉ: More staff?

We're just one big happy family, Esmé.

Ten minutes?

It's not a great deal of time to explain what's been happening to me for the last 35 years.

It's the only thing I kept.

You reckon you could climb over them?

Not with you laughing at me, sir.

Must know you're a fan.

If you've let the paparazzi in, I won't get my autograph.

Who are you?

I can't see that from here.

Who let you in?

Are you press?

Worse than that-- police.

Not too sure who let us in.

A guy on a scooter, possibly, with a remote.

We've come to see Mr. Maguire.

May I hold that for you?

No.

I'm afraid he's very busy.

So are we.

But a complaint has been made relating to firearms.

And the word "firearms" obliges us to be here on our day off.

Jacinta, take this to Mr. Richie and tell him the police would like to speak to him, if-- if, okay?-- it is convenient for him.

Look, I don't suppose you ever heard of Esmé Ford?

(laughter) Hey, man, I don't know who the hell you are, but I believe you need a drink.

This is Inspector Lewis; I'm Sergeant Hathaway.

Cool.

Not many people say "cool" when we arrive uninvited in their front room.

Well, it's not every day the beautiful Esmé Ford comes back from the dead.

LEWIS: Yeah, I'm sorry, but this is amazing.

Esmé Ford?

God, I used to have your picture on my wall.

I bet I know which one it was.

It was when I was wearing a top hat.

Yeah.

And no bra.

(snickers) Yeah.

LEWIS: But it was your voice.

Ah, well, they couldn't take a picture of my voice.

First instance, sir, we have to address an alleged misuse of firearms on your property.

Ah, yeah, that bloody vicar.

Well, I tell you why he's just seriously pissed off-- because I refused to buy him a new prong for his pretty little church.

So why don't you take a pile of these and tell him to buy two of them, and leave me alone so that I can shoot my pigeons.

The law says you can't shoot game on a Sunday, sir.

Well, the law also says that pigeons ain't game, they're vermin, and I can kill them round the clock.

God hates pigeons, tell him.

(snickers) Did you know I got married?

Yeah, I saw the pictures in the paper.

Nice-looking girl.

Where is she?

She ain't here.

Well.

That's all right, then.

(loud engine rumbling) The Axeman cometh.

Hello, Franco.

What key?

Come on, we used to do this.

And quicker than this.

That's not a note.

Everything's a note.

It's shaking about somewhere between F sharp and G. Yeah, but what key?

Twist the throttle a gnat's and we'll settle for G. The Bitch with the Pitch.

In every interview we ever gave you always labeled me something.

That's because I never got the shag off you, did I?

The Tart with No Heart, Ez, that's you.

Everything for the band, Franco, but some things, you know.

A girl's got to keep a little mystery.

You did that, all right.

Don't tell me you faked your own death just for tax purposes.

That really would be too romantic for words.

I needed a break.

35 years?

Yeah, yeah, that would constitute a break.

Now you want back in.

They're reforming the band.

ESMEÉ: Look at me, Franco.

I'm old.

I'm nearly as old as you, and you're seriously bloody old.

Look, I'm calm, I'm clean, I can still sing.

I just want to do it again, before it's too late.

Why not?

Why not?

About this-- your discretion would be appreciated.

Which particular aspect of this?

The Esmé not being dead aspect.

(elevator bell chimes) Excuse me.

Why, what have you done, you naughty boy?

Vernon Oxe.

Unto progressive rock, the Godfather.

Slimmer than Marlon Brando and with better hair.

I'm sorry, sir, but do you have a reservation?

About this place?

Deep and longstanding, but somehow one keeps coming back.

(laughs) Bags are in the car.

LEWIS: They were huge.

Everything about them was huge.

Concerts went on for hours.

Richie on the drums and vocals, harmonizing with Esmé.

Little brother Mack on the bass.

They fought like hell on stage.

Real fisticuffs sometimes.

Then Mack went off his rocker.

Brain fried with acid.

Esmé flew off to Grenada and drowned herself.

Never did find her body.

Now we know why.

But she left this terrible letter apologizing for everything, begging Richie to forgive her.

They were lovers?

Who knows?

Kept us guessing.

There was certainly a fantastic chemistry between the two of them on stage.

Mind you she was pretty fantastic chemistry all on her own.

Especially in a top hat.

We could nick the lot of them, you know.

Pigeon may be vermin, "man," but Richie's still disturbing the peace.

There was a shotgun in an umbrella stand, which does not constitute "locked and fixed steel cabinet."

Recreational drugs everywhere.

Why would I want to nick them?

Give you an excuse to come back.

Someone's got to look after your social life, sir.

(cell phone rings) (dog barking) It's not the prettiest corpse.

Young man, Caucasian, 15 or 16.

Just about every bone in his body smashed.

Where was he killed?

Not here.

No, look at his neck.

Tire marks.

On the body, not on the ground around it.

(loud rock music playing) ♫Baby!♫ ♫Why'd you have to go and leave me that way?♫ ♫Baby!♫ ♫Why'd you have to leave that way?♫ ♫Hard times, baby♫ ♫These are hard times♫ ♫Hard times♫ Whoa yeah!

Whoa yeah!

(song ends) Yeah!

Only woman who can sing a chord.

Bone!

How'd it sound, man?

Old times, man.

Old times.

Hey, there's Kitten.

Hey, honey!

When did you get here?

Come on through, babes.

That's my baby daughter, Kitten.

You'll love her.

She's studying music at Oxford.

Music music.

Real music.

(same song playing on record) ♫Why'd you have to go and leave me that way?♫ ♫Hard times♫ ♫Oh baby, these are hard times♫ ♫Hard times♫ ♫Oh yeah!♫ (song ends, audience applauds and cheers) Hi, sorry I'm late.

But, shock horror, I have actually written you an essay.

(loudly): Good heavens!

You've written me an essay.

Were this a more generously funded faculty, I would send for champagne.

As it is, I shall invite you to put the kettle on.

What's that you're listening to, Dr. Wheeler?

(music coming from computer) "Great Gates of Kiev."

Mussorgsky by way of E.L.P.

Ah... Well, that's Keith Emerson on his wobble-board.

That's not the sainted Keith.

That's a session man.

A tribute band?

They're good.

They're excellent.

But they ain't the real thing.

Now, let's hear what you've got to say about Bach.

CONCIERGE: This is a nonsmoking suite, sir.

That is precisely why there is no ashtray.

Sit down.

Sit.

I would greatly value your opinion on something.

(organ music) (cell phone vibrating) Look, this has to stop.

I've dealt with you.

MAN (on phone): That was last week.

Are you following me?

Pete?

Answer me, you bloody creep.

Well, that's not very polite.

His name is Lucas Emerton.

He died on Saturday night, but don't ask me exactly when.

Exactly when?

Earlier rather than later.

What is that?

It looks like paint.

It is paint.

HATHAWAY: From a car?

Not unless they've started painting cars with Hammerite.

Anything from the tires?

The tires are standard on about 104 different cars.

So that narrows it down a bit.

Look at those piercings.

What sort of parent allows their kid to do that?

You're going to wish you'd never asked that.

Grim place to put an orphanage.

It's not an orphanage.

"Red Crest Sanctuary is a unique environment "in which the dispossessed youth of Oxford can rediscover purpose and self-respect," it says on the website.

An orphanage has a website?

At what point did you actually acknowledge that Lucas was missing?

I'd prefer not to comment.

That's very annoying of you, Mr. Bell.

Why are you saying that?

Well, it's a litigious age, Inspector.

I feel I should have... Yeah, I feel you should have as well, but it appears you didn't.

Lucas had a grandmother, Maureen Little.

Dad unknown, mother died a junkie.

Granny disappeared off the radar.

But as it happens, Granny actually works for a software giant in Slough.

She's never been told she's got a grandson.

It's dysfunction junction.

What did that bloke Bell have to be so shifty about?

A boy who he was directly responsible for went missing and then was found grotesquely murdered.

Doesn't look great on a C.V., does it?

The effort of not telling us something was making him sweat.

Hammerite.

Sir?

Get Hobson on the phone.

See that there?

I want Forensics all over that with their little hankies.

Hobson, you're taking forever, man.

It's blood, isn't it?

Is it human?

I'll bet you fifty quid it's Lucas's.

This is where he was killed.

He was climbing up there.

The vehicle rammed the gates, knocked him off, he hit the floor.

The car drove over him again and again to make absolutely sure that he was dead.

The murderer got out, put the body in the car, drove across town and dumped it.

Why?

What did you want here, Lucas?

What've these old rockers got to do with a boy like you?

What did you say your name was again, man?

Lewis.

Life's a bastard, Lewis, don't you think?

It can be tricky.

(chuckles) "Tricky."

Ooh, wait till my wife walks in on all this when she gets back from New York.

Then we'll know tricky.

MAN: Hey!

RICHIE: Ah, Felipe.

It's cool, man, it's cool.

Now, stay calm.

These gentlemen okay to touch the cars.

Okay to touch.

Cool.

Jacinta's husband, Felipe.

No speak the inglesi.

But he polishes the cars sweet and does whatever else needs to be done around here.

Fill your boots, guys.

Lewis.

Expensive murder weapon for poor Lucas.

LEWIS: Felipe?

Are any of these vehicles damaged?

You should say a prayer to Saint Zita.

The patron saint of finding things down the back of the sofa-- I think it's Zita.

It is.

I always do.

How fascinating.

Does it work?

Sooner or later.

May I ask you something?

Do you have any idea what's bothering Mr. Maguire?

Well, apart from having his house searched by the police?

I think he's a bit disappointed with his daughter.

She's not particularly pleased to see me, and Richie always wants everybody to love everybody all the time.

He's close to her?

Very.

Didn't you know that?

Last year he made a whole album of songs dedicated to her.

Just him and a piano.

Did it in a week.

First work he'd done for 30 years.

It just poured out of him.

I don't remember that.

Recorded, not released.

Somebody who won't own up wiped the tapes.

All those songs are lost.

Richie issued a rather intemperate press release saying that he was going to find the culprit and kill him.

Would you mind telling me where you were last night?

I was with Bone.

We were screwing.

I wanted to prove to him that he was not forgotten.

Before Richie, you see, there was Bone.

It was how I joined the band.

The sex was never outstanding, as you can imagine, but it was obligatory.

And Richie knew about that?

I don't know; I expect so.

Ask him.

So you were with Bone all night?

No, he fell asleep about midnight.

Then I went next door and screwed Franco.

And that was... To prove to him that he wasn't forgotten either.

Have you ever come across a Lucas Emerton?

Whoever he is, I did not screw him.

Or, if I did, I was not aware of it at the time.

Anything else?

One quick question, sir.

The cubby box on your Land Rover.

Uh-huh?

Good grief.

What about it?

It contained approximately £20,000 in cash, sir.

Oh, yeah.

You seem unsurprised.

Pleasantly surprised; I wondered what I'd done with it.

You know that thing when you put a sandwich down and you can't find it, and you know you haven't finished the bastard... (cell phone beeping) Excellent.

Ah, there you are.

Yes, ma'am, you sent for us.

Warrant.

Needless to say, though in my experience of you, the needless needs announcing through a loudhailer, this must be handled with extreme delicacy.

If the press get it, the Chief Constable is going to make my life very disagreeable, and if my life is disagreeable, your life is going to be absolute screaming hell.

What am I saying here, Hathaway?

You're saying it's preferable not to alert the press, ma'am.

Your job is to shout that in the Inspector's ear whenever he seems to be about to do something rash.

Richie Maguire contributes half a million pounds each year to an organization which will very probably look after you, Lewis, in your declining years.

Now, that does not protect him from our scrutiny, but it does afford him a certain professional courtesy.

LEWIS: How does Lucas fit into all this?

He doesn't fit.

Right, off to Slough.

Who's off to Slough?You are.

Oh, goody.

Grill Granny.

Find out if Lucas contacted her.

I'm going for a wander in the University parks.

Richie tells me that's the place to find his little brother.

Is it true you once set fire to your brother Richie when he was unconscious?

Did I?

Bloody brilliant.

You don't remember?

I don't remember nothing.

Look.

It's directions.

I been working this place six years, man, and I can't remember how to get here.

I wake up in the morning and there's a pile of dirty clothes on the floor, and I think, "What's that all about, man?"

There's a note in the bog, and it says: "You're a gardener, you loser."

Do you still play the bass, Mack?

I play bass?

Hi, I'm looking for Maureen Little.

And you will be representing which company?

Oh.

What extension is she?

Dunno.

Maureen Little, anyone?

Maureen don't work here no more.

She dismiss.

Why's that?

You don't show for work two days running, no doctor note, you get dismiss.

What about this guy, was he looking for Maureen, too?

His name's Lucas Emerton.

HATHAWAY: How was Mack?

Damaged.

Severely damaged.

Broke what's left of my heart.

Tell me about Granny.

Well, it turns out that she did indeed work for the mighty J.C.N.B.

Until last month, when she was sacked for "consecutive non-attendance."

So, where is she now?

We don't keep records on menials.

God's sake, they must have got her from somewhere.

Well, a nice lady remembers a house in Abingdon.

So I proceed in an orderly fashion to Abingdon, (cell phone ringing) but no Granny-- that's yours.

Yeah, Lewis.

Say that again.

SAMANTHA: Are you looking for me?

Samantha Wheeler.

Vernon Oxe.

(gasps) Aha!

Well, let's get this kettle on, shall we?

I can think of nothing more agreeable.

Unless it be martinis at The Randolph?

Seems like a nice place.

SAMANTHA: You must tell me why I have the pleasure of meeting you, after years, it must be, of corresponding by check.

This commission's rather special.

It concerns the Addiction.

Again?

That seems a bit odd.

I mean, I gave you my all for Best Of.

Specifically Esmé Ford.

Aren't you better placed?

I just manage the product, Dr. Wheeler.

I thought at the time that it might be prudent not to acquaint myself too intimately with the ingredients.

People were dying, going to prison.

My private life was quite exciting enough without all of that.

Esmé's life is extremely well documented.

Your eye for the telling detail, Doctor, renders your sleeve notes quite invaluable.

Here's something... take away and listen to, very carefully, in private.

LEWIS: Sleeve rolled up, inner tube round the bicep, puncture mark, syringe on the deck, heroin in the pocket.

What do you call that?

I call it highly suspect.

Yeah, so do I.

There weren't any other needle marks.

This man no longer had the habit.

(camera clicking) He made enemies.

Are you kidding?

Anyone who ever met him hated him.

I bloody hated him and he was my best friend.

(speaking quietly) Mr.

Bone, he is so much going London, London, London.

Where?

Whereabouts in London?

Soho.

Do we know what he was doing in Soho?

He is selling things.

Memory things of the band.

Photo, autograph, little things.

Bone was a nice man, you know.

That's a pretty incendiary statement.

Well, everyone else is wrong.

He was kind.

I want to talk to you about your mum.

She's in New York.

Actually, you want to ask me what I think about Esmé Ford.

Well, she's a threat, that's pretty clear.

She comes back into your father's life, everything goes wrong.

People get killed.

What would your mum say?

About Bone?

Three cheers.

About Esmé... no idea.

You're not writing this down.

No, it's off the record.

Did you know that Bone had £20,000 in cash stashed under the passenger seat of his Land Rover?

You're kidding.

He was flogging memorabilia.

(laughing) That's actually cheered me up.

What did he do that was so kind?

He baked me a cake.

Can I go now?

It's a sculpture?

It's a macerator.

My pride and joy.

All the crap comes out of the house and the farm, down the soil pipes, and this sweet little baby chops it all up, liquefies it.

Pushes it back into Mother Earth.

I love this thing, man.

I could watch it for hours.

If I was still dropping acid, I probably would.

Bone liked to drink, a lot, but otherwise he was clean, man.

He's been clean for years.

I know.

What got stuck in his arm may or may not be heroin.

We'll find out.

But it was designed to kill him.

I think Bone went to that bar because someone said he'd meet him there.

He had a few shandies, went for a pee, and while he was standing there-- a bit unsteady, maybe-- the guy jumped him, stuck the needle in his arm.

Then bundled him into the cubicle, wrapped the band around his arm and left him there to die.

Did you kill Bone?

Explain to me why I would do that.

Because he supervised the recording of your solo album and he cocked it up.

Wiped the tapes.

I have my ideas about who was responsible.

Wasn't Bone.

But if it had been, I wouldn't have killed him for it.

What sort of man do you think I am?

I don't know, Mr. Maguire.

It bothers me.

(camera clicking) Hey!

You!

You, you little bastard!

Still making people welcome down the farm?

I know you.

Yeah, darling, you do.

You're not forgiven, Richie.

For what you did.

What was it I did, Mack?

I can't remember.

But you are not forgiven.

HATHAWAY: You managed the band throughout its entire career.

Yes.

And now you... And now I what?

What do you do now, sir, to make a living?

We have just established that I managed the third best-selling group in the history of British rock.

It'd be a pretty poor show if I was now obliged to "make a living."

What do you want?

I want to know what went wrong between the brothers Maguire.

(scoffs) Mack wrote a song called "Counterculture Blues."

Surprised?

Well, it's credited to Richie.

Indeed it is.

Unfortunately for the luckless Mack, at the time of composition he was out of his tiny mind on mandies-- Mandrax, the relaxant du jour-- popping them like Smarties.

Curious situation.

He didn't even know he'd written a song.

Richie did, copied it, put his name to it.

Royalties?

Forfeited "throughout the universe in perpetuity."

Millions, my dear.

Millions.

The anthem of a generation.

Gone like smoke through the keyhole.

Midnight Addiction, Night at the Park.

Digitally remastered.

Sleeve notes by Sam Wheeler-- who's he?

She... is the internationally acknowledged expert on 14th-century secular polyphony.

But she has a dirty little secret.

She's crazy about the band.

She knows every damn last detail about everything they ever did.

Sad for one of her standing, but jolly useful.

(plucking note on guitar, singing note) (tuning guitar) Sharp.

Bloody hell, amigo, it's the only thing about you that is sharp.

I don't know what I'm doing here.

Where's Kitten?

Kitten he remembers.

She's at her university, man.

Student.

Music student, man.

I think I'm in tune now.

Let's play, yeah?

(guitar solo playing) Okay.

This is the bit where you tell me the truth.

If you lie to me now, you'll regret it.

Have I lied to you?

You've been highly selective with what you say and don't say.

You give the impression you just materialized here.

What should I have said?

That you were delivered to the farm gates by Vernon Oxe.

Materializing was good showbiz.

People were impressed.

35 years ago the band was in thrall to me.

I was the enchantment that held us together.

Made us stars.

Think of that girl in the top hat, Lewis... and look at what I am now.

If I'm going to do any enchanting these days, I'll need all the magic I can get.

Now, Vernon may be a sad, fat old letch, but he's still got a bit of fairy dust up his sleeve.

If it looked like the band was gonna get back on its feet, that everybody was gonna be in the vibe, then I'd trundle Vernon out of the wings.

That was the plan.

I saw you play in Newcastle City Hall the night I met my wife.

Is that a trick question?

Did we play Newcastle?

You did.

Were we good?

Better than good.

We could be again.

Not if one of you's a murderer.

(knocking on door) Dr. Wheeler, the name's Hathaway.

I was wondering if... (bells chiming) (crying) If you want to talk to me you're going to have to wait, because I'm going to be sick.

(cell phone beeping) WOMAN: I'm Constance Frisch.

You know that, it's written on the door.

That poor girl.

She was close to Dr. Wheeler?

We're all of us close to our undergraduates here.

Music is an intimate discipline.

Quite.

Dr. Wheeler's computer is as she left it.

Neither of us can touch it, yet.

But could you tell just by looking at the screen what it is she might have been listening to?

Is it rock?

No.

This doesn't fit the sound of an amplified band.

That would be all over the place.

I'd say she was listening to a single instrument.

Guitar?

No.

Something altogether more constrained.

Somebody constraining themselves to within a particular range of an instrument's capability?

Say, sticking to within a couple of octaves.

That would also fit the bill.

Dr. Wheeler have any unusual visitors recently?

Apart from Vernon Oxe?

Dreadful.

Dreadful.

Forgive me, sir, can anybody confirm that you spent the whole of yesterday afternoon here in the hotel?

Two people.

The barman and the beauteous bellhop.

But I don't know either of their names, alas.

And you came looking for Dr. Wheeler to offer her another job?

Yes.

Are you going to tell me what?

Can you keep a secret?

Possibly.

Maybe.

Couldn't promise.

I wanted her to prepare some materials on Esmé Ford.

For God's sake tell me you've heard of Esmé Ford.

I know the person you mean.

Then you may be astonished to learn that she isn't dead.

My understanding was she committed suicide.

Piece of theater.

I stage-managed the whole bloody thing.

Esmé didn't die in the Caribbean.

She wrote the famous letter, dictated by me, on the balcony of her hotel room overlooking the bay at St. George.

She got into a private airplane, and she flew to Venezuela with me.

Now she's poised to spring again, pantherlike, onto the world of rock and roll and devour it.

And those who survived are set to make a great deal of money.

Some of them.

Those who remained faithful.

May I also ask you, sir, if you've recently come into contact with a person widely known as the Bone?

God, is he still going?

No, sir.

He too has been murdered.

INNOCENT: Who did this?

That's what we're trying to establish, ma'am.

The deaths...

I'm not talking about deaths.

I'm talking about the press.

The Chief Constable is endeavoring to present rural Oxfordshire as a haven of respectability and safety and this, Lewis, is not what is required.

What was that?

I didn't speak, ma'am.

You didn't, and I heard you not doing it.

Who is that Richie's got his arms round?

"Unknown family friend"?

I think it's an unknown friend of the family, ma'am.

Out, both of you.

I want frolicking bloody baa-lambs on the front page of my newspaper.

See to it.

Ma'am.

I made a considerable effort just now not to show how angry I am.

Yes, sir.

It showed.

Three dead bodies, she gets her gusset in a bind about P.R.

Our rulers live in a different country.

Have you got a minute, Peter?

Actually, no, I haven't.

I gather you're reading Classics.

So you'll appreciate the concept of the rhetorical question.

Here, let's go to your place.

HATHAWAY: Do you play?

Or do you just collect this stuff?

Okay, I have a lecture to go to, actually, I... No.

You've been to a lecture and you've just got back.

Let's not get off on the wrong foot with you telling me things that aren't true.

You're blackmailing Kitten Maguire.

Tell me about that.

Who?

She won't tell me what it is you've got on her.

I think she's frightened of you.

Okay, I want a lawyer.

I'm sure you do, but I forgot to bring one.

All of this stuff is paid for by Kitten.

She's lying.

Is she?

I haven't told you what she said yet.

You're a policeman.

You're not actually allowed on college premises without the permission of the master or his appointed representative.

And you are dirty, Woodrow.

I want you to know that I know.

And I want you to know that I'm going to have you.

SOCO's found this in a wheelie bin down the road from the Faculty.

They're good boys.

Very thorough.

What's on it?

Frisch's skin, which is what one might expect.

But there's also a very small quantity of leather.

One doesn't play the lute wearing gloves.

With garrottings, one must expect gloves; the garrotter doesn't want to cut their hands on the murder weapon.

I have three killings, Doctor.

They're all connected.

Yep, I think they are.

And I'll tell you something else about your murderer.

He or she is very fastidious.

Killed the first one with a car, second one with a needle, and strangled the third whilst wearing dinky little gloves.

Doesn't like the contact.

Doesn't shy away from the brutal deed, but doesn't like to touch.

So, the killer silences Lucas.

But that's not enough.

Bone has to be got rid of, too.

Then the killer thinks: "Blimey, is there someone else I have to keep quiet?"

And there was.

Samantha Wheeler.

What's the secret here, Laura?

I mean, try and imagine three more utterly different people.

What is it they all know that's so threatening?

And who else knows?

There's a rat.

Yeah.

Someone's been in contact with the press, and we must assume they still are.

(sighs) Where's Esmé?

Were you aware, sir, that at the time Esmé Ford joined the band that she was Bone's lover?

Were you aware that the Bone had two false teeth right at the front?

That's because when I found out in 1969, I punched him in the mouth.

We didn't discuss the matter further.

Not necessary.

Anything else, while we're gazing into each other's eyes?

Just before she disappeared, Esmé Ford wrote you a letter.

You don't say.

Do you still have it?

(Jo screams) Spider.

Spider, spider, spider, spider!

JO: Don't, don't, don't touch it!

It ran across my hand!

It was ginormous!

Tarantula?

(Jo screams again) Precisely what is going on here?

Caroline.

Baby.

How was New York?

You've been to New York, haven't you, Richie?

It was like that.

Who's this?

This is the police.

Police, this is my wife.

It's all go since I've been away.

When did you arrive back, ma'am?

I don't know.

Does it matter?

I'm afraid so.

Which flight?

I might need to check.

I never went to New York.

I was staying at The Randolph.

Where, as you discover when you check, I was obliged to keep an even lower profile than I had planned, because that cretin Oxe was there, holding court.

Go on.

I wanted to give Richie... the necessary space.

I can always tell when he's building up to an affair.

I never know who, but I always know when, and I just prefer not to be around when it's actually happening.

Never lasts long.

He's like a dog, really.

Needs exercising.

Now, oh dear.

You've gone all po-faced.

Tolerance of infidelity isn't that shocking, is it?

Why tell him you'd gone all the way to New York?

To make him feel safe.

That way it might be over even quicker.

And why did you decide that now was the right time to come back?

The idea of reforming the band.

Richie flailing up and down the motorway in some stupid truck for the next five years.

That I really don't want.

No, the Ford woman will have to go.

MAN (whispering): I can get you more, yes!

Ah, Felipe.

Is there anybody through there?

Anybody?

There?

Okay, fine.

Whereabouts is the spider?

The... Oh, yes.

I want to know if this particular creature comes from Venezuela.

Well, I'll get someone to interview it other than me.

Arachnophobe, Hathaway?

Card-carrying, sir.

So was Jo Race.

But who knew that?

Yet another thing we need to find out.

Any news from the shop?

A nice e-mail from Reverend Armstrong hoping that whatever's going on down here will put paid to all the banging on a Sunday morning.

Oh, and Kitten is being blackmailed.

What?

Fellow student, Peter Woodrow.

Blackmailed about what?

Well, she's not saying, but she's obviously paying out with money from her godfather.

Bone-- selling the family silver to bail her out.

What is that?

Sculpture?

You know nothing about life in the country, do you?

It's a macerator.

It stinks.

What does it do?

You don't want to know.

So, what about this student?

Peter Woodrow.

I felt his collar and he squealed for Mummy.

Very distasteful piece of work.

Even the sound of his voice makes me want to give him a dry slap.

Idiot!

Give me your mobile a minute, Felipe?

I want to see who you were talking to just then.

The News of the Screws?

Filling them in about Esmé?

Or was it somebody just checking that their parcel had arrived safely?

Chauffeur, electrician...

The ultimate odd job man, aren't you?

And always looking out for an angle, but whatever else you've been up to, Richie's going to take a pretty dim view when I tell him it was you that was tipping off the press.

I just turned the power back on, by the way.

This is your one chance to be treated leniently.

I know nothing about the spider.

This is harassment.

No, this is my superior officer, Inspector Lewis.

Hello, Peter.

Let's talk about this Kitten business.

Oh, for God's sake.

She just wasn't coming over with the cash quickly enough, was she?

So you decided to put the frighteners on her.

This is outrageous.

I'll tell you what's outrageous, son!

The fact that Kitten didn't send the Bone round to you with a bloody great hammer.

Now listen-- it's in your best interest to tell me politely what you did.

I can't hear you, Peter.

Kitten took me to the farm.

One night.

She'd had some mushrooms.

Okay?

She had some mushrooms.

I didn't.

I wanted to stay straight, make sure she would be okay.

She took me to the studio.

Richie had been recording these songs for her.

He didn't think she knew.

She knew.

She was so stoned.

She... wiped the master.

The whole album.

Gone.

Straight away, she, um, she wanted to wake Richie up and tell him.

I admired her for that.

You're a hell of a guy.

But I persuaded her not to.

You saw a business opportunity.

What I saw, okay, was Richie go bloody postal the next morning.

Yeah?

Terrifying.

Hey, I've, you know, done what you asked.

I told you what happened.

This isn't school, Peter.

You can't put your hand up for nicking sweets and expect a pat on the back for owning up.

LEWIS: So, off goes Lucas to Slough, in search of his Gran.

But unfortunately, she doesn't work for J.C.N.B.

anymore.

Dead end.

But there's a cleaner remembers Gran's address.

So Lucas calls round.

What does he see?

Declan?

I don't know the answer to this bit.

You're going to have to help me.

He finds someone else.

Did Lucas describe this other person at all?

He opened the door a millimeter.

Tells Lucas he's got the wrong place, no woman here.

But he's lying.

Lucas isn't stupid.

He thinks, "This man's hiding my grandmother."

So what does he do?

What would you do?

Say "sorry" and leave.

Then I'd stake him out and the minute he left the house, I'd be in.

Or follow him.

Thinking he's keeping Granny somewhere else.

Is that what Lucas was going to do?

We're going to nail the guy who killed your friend.

Okay?

I give you my word.

LEWIS: You know what I'm doing?

I'm trying to think like Morse.

Does that mean we're going to the pub?

Lucas.

Bone.

Samantha.

Richie.

Could he have killed Lucas?

Yes.

Lucas might have been Richie's son.

Why would he have killed him?

Don't know.

Could he have killed Bone?

Yes.

Why would he?

Every reason not to.

I doubt very much whether he'd have killed Samantha, because he was still under quarantine with us up at the farm.

I say he's still in the frame.

Me too.

Franco.

Could he have killed Lucas?

Yes.

Why?

Don't know.

Bone?

Yes.

Why?

He hates Bone.

Franco hates everybody.

Felipe.

Mr. Up-for-Grabs.

I suspect he was making too much money out of people to want them dead.

Jo.

You think she might have sent the spider to herself?

It occurred to me, yeah.

Let's come back to her.

Mack.

Now, this is a man carrying around the most appalling secret, but I don't know what it is.

Unfortunately, I don't think he does either.

Kitten.

More secrets.

Who was that?

That was Vernon.

Vernon's gone.

Better not have done.

I've yet to have the pleasure.

Gentlemen, this is not an aid to my digestion.

The quicker you answer our questions, sir, the sooner we leave.

What has Mack got to hide?

One really doesn't know.

It was the halcyon days of rock and roll excess.

We were all at it like scissors on heat.

Though some of us did our scissoring elsewhere to maintain our authority.

Always?

Always.

Generally.

There was the once.

Franco?

A bit pruney-looking nowadays, isn't he, and so bitter.

He was such a pretty boy.

Delicious.

Oh, come, come, come.

You can exchange silent looks of disapproval to your hearts' content.

I couldn't care less.

The Addiction is mine.

I put the band together, I named it, I bought the clothes, I bought the deals.

The band was my creation and it remains mine.

At my touch it shall live again and do my bidding.

Et bloody cetera.

(chuckling) And if anyone doesn't like the idea, they'd be advised to stand well aside.

Because I am coming through.

(chuckles) (rock music playing) You see, that, to me, does not sound like face-meltingly awesome blues-based prog rock.

Sounds more like Status Quo whinging about the biscuits in the old people's home.

One... two... three... four.

(Mack playing out of synch) (feedback whining) That was good, Mack.

You're getting there.

Richie, for God's sake, go and get Franco back.

(feedback stops) This is it.

Tonight.

If this is as good as it gets, well, we all go our separate ways.

Finish.

Solo career, here I come.

Caroline would have me halfway back to Venezuela by now if your lot hadn't asked me to stay.

If we told you you could leave now, where would you go?

Lancaster.

That's a very definite and rather unexpected answer.

I had the best time in Lancaster.

University.

I read sociology.

It was in a bar on the campus that I was picked up by Bone.

What year was that?

'65-- lifetime ago.

MACK: Where's Kitten?

She's in her room.

She's safe.

(playing fluent jazz/rock passage) Good.

I want her to be safe.

Why, Mack?

Why does Kitten matter to you so much?

Because she's my daughter.

I mean, to allow oneself to be impregnated by Mack Maguire could be written off as youthful indiscretion.

But to keep the child... That speaks of a deep-rooted confidence I now... cannot recognize in myself at all.

The father's a junky?

That's okay.

Swap him for his big brother.

Raise the child with him instead.

It'll work out.

Does she know?

All this truth in circulation, she'll probably find out.

Best if I let her know myself, I think.

Poor Mack.

He never cared about "Counterculture Blues."

But Richie relieving him of his baby.

That was hard to take.

That's what tipped him over the edge.

Richie knows it.

That's why he's so crippled with guilt.

Any idea who sent that spider to Jo Race?

I did.

I thought she was having an affair with Richie.

Dr. Frisch, she said yes.

To what?

The e-mail I sent her asking whether the pattern on Samantha Wheeler's computer could have been made by an unaccompanied female voice.

Now, that is interesting.

Lancaster University.

Ha!

Sir?

Look it up on that doodah of yours now.

I'll bet you 50 qu... Who's that?

You should have come in.

Complexion for the connection.

Might never get out.

We don't lock people up for being black.

It's an idea, mind.

Funny man, yeah.

I have no sense of humor.

Everybody knows that.

Thank you, Declan.

Lucas's.

Some of this he's had since he was a baby, yeah?

Came with him, as it were?

He didn't know what it meant, but he hung on to it just in case.

He'd have made a good policeman.

It's not your fault that he's dead, Declan.

It's really important that you understand that.

This... You've helped me more than anybody else.

Anybody.

(phone ringing) I've just seen Esmé Ford talking to the custody sergeant.

Correct, ma'am.

I asked uniform to bring her in for questioning.

In my world, not hers.

Nobody told me she was not dead.

LEWIS: No, ma'am.

It's all been a bit confusing.

The good news is we've apprehended the man that was in contact with the press.

Chauffeur, ma'am.

Esmé Ford returning from the dead is quite a big story, Hathaway.

Yes, ma'am, and so far we've been successful in keeping it from the media.

New Notes.

What do you mean, "New Notes"?

What am I looking at?

Show me.

The Isle of Wight Festival, ma'am, 1968.

Backing singers.

These girls.

Why am I looking at two Esmé Fords?

Exactly what I intend to ask her, ma'am.

Will it be sometime soon, do you think, that you condescend to interview your detainee?

Before the duty solicitor lodges a formal complaint?

One moment, ma'am.

All she's done since I got her in is make one phone call.

To The Randolph.

Who did she speak to?

If it is Esmé's voice on that disc, I want to hear it.

Sir.

By whatever means.

"The hotel switchboard cannot divulge that information."

They'll find they bloody well can if I go round there.

Not necessary.

I know who it was.

Oh, God.

I get so worried when you do this inscrutable thing.

And I know why she made the call.

So what are you actually going to do, Lewis?

Now?

Now, ma'am?

I'm going to think.

You're going to think.

Yeah, ma'am.

As a means of solving crime it can prove useful.

(toilet flushes) Sorry, I forgot my, uh... Do carry on.

Gotcha.

(sighs) Vern just hand it over?

Well, he might have done, had he been there.

Let's hear it.

WOMAN (on disc): ♫I said baby♫ ♫Why'd you have to go and leave me that way?♫ ♫Hard times, oh, baby♫ ♫These are hard times♫ ♫Hard times...♫ (clicks off) Halleluia.

That's not Esmé Ford.

LEWIS: Tell me about life on campus back in '65.

I'm curious.

For the tape, please.

For the tape, I am not disposed to talk about "life on campus."

I'm not surprised, because in 1965, there was no campus.

They were still building it.

Until '66, the only hall of residence was the old Waring and Gillows furniture factory.

For the tape, Ms. Ford is exchanging an anxious look with her solicitor.

But you yourself never went to Lancaster, did you?

Because you were a New Note.

Let's stop there a minute.

No, let's not.

The New Notes were an all-girl backing group, led by Esmé Ford, then an undergraduate at Lancaster, but also in the outfit was her little sister Maureen.

I'm afraid I must insist that we stop.

You can have a whole bonanza of insisting when I've finished.

Look.

Here you are...

Right there.

I needed a magnifying glass to pick you out, Maureen, but take it from me.

That is you, right next to Esmé.

I just listened to that demo that you made for Vernon.

And I heard the same thing that Samantha Wheeler heard when she listened to it: the voice of someone working very hard to sound like Esmé Ford.

Now, for the first time, I really am insulted.

Dr. Wheeler told Vernon.

She said, "Either you're being conned, Mr. Oxe, or you're trying to con me."

Say something.

Which was not at all what Vernon wanted to hear, so he went round and he silenced her.

Just as he silenced the Bone.

Because the Bone had also sussed you, hadn't he?

He kissed you, he touched you.

You just didn't feel like your sister, eh, Maureen?

Isn't that right?

But the person who really worried you was Franco.

Oh, dear.

You had to phone Vernon and tell him that you'd really blundered there.

Why hadn't he warned you?

And that's before we've even started on the subject of Lucas.

Who?

Now, just listen to me, will you, Lewis?

I haven't the faintest bloody idea what you're talking about.

The notion of Vernon going round slaughtering people is just so unutterably stupid as beggars belief.

Yes, we had a business plan, and yes, it was a little bit deceitful, but Christ's sakes, what have I ever had in my life?

A daughter.

She died.

She was a junky.

She left me, she lived on the streets and she died.

She died in childbirth.

What?

She gave birth in a shop doorway.

The child was taken into care.

Lucas was your grandson, Maureen.

He came looking for you to tell you, and Vernon killed him, too.

I'm sorry.

Interview terminated at 10:15.

Don't say it.

I won't, ma'am.

But he is a bloody genius.

Get us to the farm now.

You think the Addiction was once a phenomenon.

This time round we're going to take the entire planet and put it in our pocket.

Whose pocket, Vernon?

Ours.

For we shall all be wearing the same coat.

Won't it get a bit sweaty in there?

Who's we?

The band and its deserving dependents.

Those whom we love.

You are a funny bastard, Vern.

One strives to please.

Let's walk.

Walk?

Yeah.

You remember walking, Vernon.

That's how ordinary people move around the surface of the earth.

(laughing) No, thank you.

Time was you'd have crawled over broken glass to exchange a few fluids with me.

Snows of yesteryear,darling.

Where have they gone?

Yeah, yeah, whatever.

A lifetime in the closet for me, Vern.

That's required a bit of stamina.

(switch clicks) (motor humming) Truth is I've given up on sex.

No, the truth is, sex has given up on me.

The hydraulics are shot.

That's alcohol.

Cheers.

My dear... (glass clinking as it breaks) What wretched news.

Which makes me a nonfunctioning queer.

Your girl, she got it seriously wrong, trying to shag me.

See, Esmé tried it once.

The circumstances were memorable.

She would not have forgotten.

I could have blown the whistle on you, and I didn't.

I was, uh... Oh, what was I, Verny?

What's the word?

Intrigued?

(chuckling) What are we drinking to?

Impotence?

(chuckling) (spits) I thought you were this big-time connoisseur.

You were the one.

You were the one.

That's why I kept your secret all these years.

And now this, such a waste.

Such a waste.

The rather off note in the Armagnac is Preludin.

Do you remember that?

Preludin-- it's what would-be priapics used to take before Viagra.

I thought it might be rather nostalgic for you.

The downside of Preludin is that it does tend to make one feel rather wobbly.

Vernon Oxe.

Where is he?

Stay in the house!

Oh, thank God you're here!

Something awful!

Franco has fallen into the machine.

He's incredibly drunk and he can't get out.

HATHAWAY: You're going to prison for the rest of your life, Oxe.

But before you do, you're going to buy me a new bloody suit.

Is that necessary?

You lost the right to have an opinion about anything the moment you drove your car over that boy.

No.

Least I hit the bugger.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa.

Easy, baby.

Gun on the deck.

RICHIE: Hands in the air.

Sorry if you got some of that.

But it had to be done.

Right.

That's enough.

(faint chatter on police radio) Esmé's dead.

Yeah.

She's been dead a long time, Richie.

Yeah.

Would you see this gets to Richie Maguire?

He gave it to my sister.

She... She sent it to me the night she killed herself.

How's the food?

The food?

You live in the, uh... Hmm.

You live in the...

In the college.

Yeah, I do.

So how's the food?

It's okay.

Thanks.

How's... How's things with you?

Mustn't grumble.

Do you know who I am?

Yes.

Oh, yes.

You're my Kitten.

Yes.

I am.

HOBSON: I'm a simple soul, chaps.

Try not to blind me with science.

Vernon Oxe was grooming Maureen Little to become like her sister Esmé-- to walk like her and talk like her.

Sang very like her but not quite.

Before he could get the whole con rolling, he had to get the endorsement of one or two people he thought were essential.

Samantha Wheeler....

But she smelled a rat.

Vernon couldn't have her walking around saying Esmé was a fake.

And Bone wasn't buying it either.

What about the first murder-- the boy, Lucas?

Poor Lucas didn't fit in with the plot at all.

The whole scam was predicated on the fact that Maureen's life was empty.

To have Vernon take control of it might have been a bad thing, but at least it was something, giving her life some purpose, some reason.

Yeah, but not as much as finding out she had a real grandchild.

Well, whatever Oxe was peddling by way of a fantasy couldn't start to compare with that.

Lucas had to go.

Still, at least Hathaway got a glimpse of the rock and roll life.

That's educational.

Now I know what it feels like to be Britney Spears.

Will it stop you dressing like her on your days off?

HATHAWAY: Probably not.

That's another thing I shall need counseling for.

I've just spent all afternoon in a lake of crap with knives in it, saving your presence, Doctor.

And I haven't even begun on the matter of compensation.

Would you settle out of court for a pint?

What do you think I am?

Thirsty.

Two pints.

Done.

(cell phone beeps) Excuse me.

Oh, pull yourself together, Lewis.

You're only young once, and that was a long time ago.

I'll buy you a drink.

You can bang on about how perfect everything was in your day.

When I say "buy you a drink" I should point out that I don't actually have any cash.

CUMMING: Next t Captioned by Media Access Group at WGBH access.wgbh.org