METAL BANGING
Unhand the maid! Or perish! Never!
I'll unhorse you here.
HAMMERING
MAN SHOUTS, WOMAN SCREAMS
How is he, Foley? Ready to run for his life, boss.
Good, cos I'm putting a real jockey up on him for tomorrow's race.
A top rider, from Newmarket.
You can't do this. He needs a rider with a bit of class, don't you?
The race is mine. You owe me.
I owe you nothing.
HORSE WHINNIES
HISSING
Bantling Boy is eating up the ground. Pulling double.
Jake's done wonders with him. I'm the damn trainer, Marianna.
How many years since your last winner?
He'll win the cup.
Then maybe you can find it within yourself to give me some credit.
Car theft, Scott. Our superintendent is hoping for something better.
Me too, sir.
That's a nice outfit, sir. Mrs Barnaby choose it for you?
Yes, she did. I'm off to the charity event at Causton Races.
Gonna have yourself a flutter? No. It's a mug's game.
I don't know. I enjoy a punt on the horses, studying form.
Well, plenty of form there for you to study, Scott. Enjoy.
Go on. Get your glad rags on. We'll make a day of it.
Sam, I've told you, I'm already committed.
CAR HORN
They're here!
(LAUGHS)
Sir Peter! Have at you!
Die, varlet! Surrender, saucy knave!
Die! Put that back immediately, Geoffrey.
Sorry, Angela. Sorry.
HORN
Morning, Lady Hartley. Come on, Jo.
I've got a horse to shoe. Peter.
Come here.
Thanks for having him.
Now, you be good. He always is.
Is she coming? Yes, she's still on the phone.
Oh! It's work, Tom. She's up for a part.
We'll miss the first race. Ah!
I have an audition. That's great, Cully. What is it?
To play Hero. Shouldn't that be heroine?
No, Dad. Hero's a woman.
Shakespeare. Much Ado About Nothing.
Let's hope this time it isn't.
DISTANT RACE COMMENTARY
CHEERING
The next race is the Causton Gold Cup, sponsored by Tate's Bread.
Local hopeful Bantling Boy is owned by a syndicate of Midsomer villagers
and is trained by Bruce Hartley.
He's been working terribly hard and he's come on tremendously well.
We've got the right man on top of it today as well.
He's a very genuine animal.
More than can be said for you.
"That brings us to our next race, the Causton Gold Cup."
"Five runners in what promises to be a very competitive race."
500 to win, Bantling Boy.
Ticket, 74. Thank you, guvnor.
Steady. I know my job, Mr Hartley.
You must be gutted. I could gut Bruce Hartley, for sure.
Been going since I retired the Horse Guards.
Wife thinks I'm mad, but is the world any saner, Barnaby?
How many rescue horses at Fallowfields now?
Too many. Those horses have rescued me often enough.
Hauling artillery over the Italian mountains in '45.
Splendid creatures. Yes, indeed they are.
Dad. Oh, hello, Major. Can I borrow your wallet for a second?
Why? We're gonna put a bet on.
Smile like a sunburst, that girl of yours.
Hasn't changed since her pony-club days.
"Jockeys mounting up now..."
Can I have ã50 to win on Hawksbill? 3:30 at the Causton Cup. Thank you.
You've done your money there, squire. Bantling Boy will romp home.
It'll win me plenty. Got the mortgage on him?
I own a leg of it.
(COUGHS) That horse could win pulling a milk float.
BICYCLE BELL
"Here comes Simon Winter on Bantling Boy, just cantering up the post."
"Just the five runners, then, for this afternoon's big race."
"In goes Bantling Boy."
"With Indian Tonic on the rails and Carmelite moving well behind her,
it's Hawksbill moving along." What's he holding them up for?
Come on, give him a bit of stick there.
What's he doing?
Come on!
Come on, Bantling Boy. Come on!
Is that the one you backed? Yes, he's local. Midsomer-trained.
Come on, Bantling Boy. Come on!
SHOUTING
"Bantling Boy a length and a half behind in second place."
CHANTING
I told him to drop him out. No, he needs to pick up the pace.
Come on, Bantling Boy!
"Sir Richard out and committed in front of Hawksbill."
"But here comes Bantling Boy, moving strongly."
Come on, Bantling Boy! Come on, Bantling Boy!
How much did you put on? I put ã30 to win.
30...?
Come on, Bantling Boy! Come on! Come on, Bantling Boy!
"Bantling Boy, three furlongs to go." Come on, Hawksbill.
Come on!
SHOUTING
Come on, yeah, he's going. Whip him on, my son.
SHOUTING Go! Go! Go!
"Neck-and-neck in the final furlong." Get up there.
"Bantling Boy has a nose in front." Come on!
SHOUTING
Push him on! Push him on!
CHEERING
Wey! BICYCLE BELL
Bantling Boy won.
Sam Tate. Interested in selling him?
Well... I'll give you 500,000.
Pounds? Guineas if you like.
Keep away from my owners. I'll talk to who I like.
He's not for sale. Get away. Don't push me!
I'll see you finished. He'll be the last horse you ever train.
ã30 at 3-1. That's ã90 profit.
Dinner at the Bon Chance restaurant, bottle of Beau, steak a point.
No, this money's going to charity. To Fallowfields.
Spend our winnings saving some nag from the glue pot?
Yes. Well, what a waste.
Fish and chips?
I will not sell. That's final.
Half a million quid. That's 125 grand a piece.
He'll be worth even more next year.
If he breaks his leg tomorrow, he'll be dog food.
The money would be very useful.
My father left us Bantling Boy as reward for our loyalty.
I demand the same loyalty from you.
Don't dress it up, Bruce. We all know why he left the horse to you.
This is nothing to do with you!
(SHE CRIES)
The terms of the syndicate require a unanimous decision.
Dr Osgood?
Are you LOYAL to Bruce on this? Yes. I'm with Bruce on this.
I say we sell. I need the money.
Me an' all. We'll get ourselves a lawyer.
You want to break up the syndicate?
You want the truth to come out?
Hmm? Cos it will.
Bantling Boy will be sold over my dead body!
Then get into bed with Sam Tate.
You can give him what he wants. Why the hell should I?
How dare you?
Bite his hand off, Mother. Before you're past your sell-by date.
You and that halfwit brother of yours.
Don't cry.
Why now?
Because Bruce said he would tell, he said he'd tell everybody.
I can't believe this. They knew. All of them knew.
Well, damn the lot of them, and damn you!
Ray!
(SHE CRIES)
METAL BANGING
SHOUTING
I know. I know, it has to stop.
No. No, don't come round.
Please, John. John!
J-
Come on.
Boy.
WHINNIES
Marianna! In here.
Stay back, Ray. He... He's dead.
What happened?
I don't know. I found him. Jake's disappeared.
We need the police. Don't touch anything.
Marianna, come away.
I doubt it was a kick. Blunt, heavy weapon, I suspect.
The horse could've stood in the pooling blood.
Or the hoof was smeared to make it appear accidental?
Possibly.
Thanks for your help.
Er, Mr Craxton, when did you last see Bruce Hartley alive?
About eightish last night. Drunk as a hand cart, shouting his head off.
Bruce was a pain in the ear with everybody.
Including you? I left here about 8:00.
By 9:00 he was having a blazing argument with the syndicate.
What syndicate? Bruce Hartley owned Bantling Boy
with Dr Osgood, Trevor Machin and Joanna, my wife.
Look, I had nothing to do with any of that.
I've got a horse to shoe. Of course you have.
Er... Jake Foley, stable lad. Where can we find him?
Dunno. Seems he went last night. And we'll need this hammer, please.
For Forensics. Yes, George? Thank you.
Why? Just routine, Mr Craxton.
Thank you.
Don't play Little Miss Innocent with me.
You brought nothing into this marriage.
How dare you? Osgood? Or the two of you together?
Leave, Angela! Now!
Um... DCI Barnaby. This is DS Scott.
Sorry.
My mother-in-law.
Mrs Hartley?
Do you feel able to answer a few questions, please?
If I can be of any help.
Jake Foley, I understand he's missing.
Yes. Jake was the real horseman here.
He should have been on Bantling Boy yesterday
but Bruce took the ride from him.
Oh, how did Jake take that?
He put up with it. He put up with it?
We all put up with Bruce...
His drinking, his violent temper.
Was your husband violent last night, Mrs Hartley? Towards you?
We did argue. I...
I fell. Sprained my wrist.
What did you argue about?
It was personal.
OK.
One more question. Were you alone here last night with your husband?
Yes.
A very angry woman swinging a heavy weapon
might just do that kind of damage to herself.
You mean the sprained wrist? Very neatly bandaged, isn't it?
Scott, the people in this syndicate that own Bantling Boy...
I met one of them yesterday, sir.
Trevor Machin. Lives in a wheelchair. Breath like a badger.
You can start with Trevor Machin. Where exactly did you meet him?
At the Hammer and Pennant.
The Hammer and Pennant, Scott?
I thought you were supposed to be investigating car thefts.
I noticed that most of the car thefts took place in pub car parks.
I did a sort of tour. A forensic pub crawl, was it?
Public-house-to-house enquiries, sir.
I'm off to Bantling Hall. Put out a call for this Jake Foley. Yes, sir.
Yes!
A hit! Come on. Bull's-eye next.
Go for gold, yes? Shoot it again.
I can do it myself. Going to help.
No, you can't.
Excuse me. Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby, Causton CID.
Come inside, will you?
Shoot. No, get off.
Stupid!
You made me miss. Go and fetch.
Cecil Hartley, 3rd Baron Bantling. Famous Catholic.
Involved in the Gunpowder Plot.
George, 4th Baron Bantling. Betrayed the king at Marston Moor.
Thomas Bantling. Fought in the American War of Independence.
For the Americans. More bloodshed and treachery in the Bantling family
than all Shakespeare's plays put together.
Shut the door, will you?
You may as well know my relationship with my son
had been in low water for some time.
Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Was there a particular reason?
When my husband died last year, he left me nothing but debts.
I WAS lady of the manor. I'm now maid of all work.
I cook, clean, do accounts for tradesmen
to keep body and soul together.
And your son was unsympathetic?
There was a profound shallowness about my son,
a childlike selfishness which he inherited from his father.
What about his wife, Marianna?
The girl lacked background.
My son made a bad marriage.
Have you lived alone since your husband's death?
I live with my brother Geoffrey, a full-time occupation himself.
The body of a man, the mind of a child.
Men who remain children seem to run in my family.
This horse, Bantling Boy,
your husband left it to a syndicate, didn't he? Why did he do that?
Bruce and my husband wasted a fortune on useless horses.
Bantling Boy was a home-bred yearling
when he willed it to the syndicate.
Now it's worth thousands. Just another of life's ironies.
I understand there was some sort of argument
at the meeting of the syndicate last night.
They had an offer for the horse. Bruce refused to sell.
His death will make the rest of them considerably richer. How?
If a member dies, their share passes to the remaining members. I see.
All of which is cold comfort to me.
I shall have to sell Bantling Hall to settle my husband's debts.
It's been in the family 500 years. Devastating loss.
More devastating than the loss of your son?
Frankly, Inspector, yes.
Mr Machin, I'd like to know where you were last night about 10:00.
Whoa! I'm stuck in this wheelchair.
I couldn't kill him no matter how much I wanted to.
This horse of yours, Bantling Boy.
How did you get a share in it? 30 years a gardener at the hall.
It broke my back. Colonel Hartley left it me as a reward.
But you're chasing shadows if you think the horse is behind it.
No, this is family matters.
In what way? Have you met Hartley's wife?
Marianna. Her with the swimming-pool eyes.
Right, talk to Dr Osgood.
Him and Hartley are like that.
But behind Hartley's back, Osgood and Marianna are like that, an' all.
They're having an affair? Bit of one with the other, yeah.
I saw Osgood driving to the stables last night like a bat out of hell.
What time was this? About 10:00.
Thank you, that's very useful. See yourself out, can you?
Yeah.
Ginseng and dandelion. Sharpens the mind.
Thank you. I understand, Dr Osgood, you and Bruce Hartley were friends.
Grew up in the village. Climbed the same trees. Chased the same girls.
Very good friends, then.
So Bruce Hartley left you the share in Bantling Boy?
No, his father bequeathed it to me.
I became his doctor in his final years.
Dead long before they buried him, poor chap. Cancer.
When did you last see Bruce Hartley? At Causton Races.
French-kissing a bottle of champagne. Chateau'd, I'm afraid.
Would you say he's got a problem with drink?
Bruce was a functioning alcoholic, sergeant, like his father.
Causton Races, you say.
You're not being entirely honest with us, are you, Dr Osgood?
We know that you saw him up at the hall last night.
You've heard about that? Oh, yes, indeed.
We also have a witness who saw you driving towards the stables at 10:00
last night.
I'm assuming it was you who bandaged Marianna's wrist.
Is she a patient of yours? Yes, Marianna called me.
Bruce had assaulted her. Again. Just a house call, was it, Doctor?
OK.
Marianna and I are involved but Bruce knew nothing.
I love Marianna and I begged her to leave him.
How did you feel knowing that your good friend had assaulted
the woman you love?
Did you confront him? Teach him a lesson?
He'd cleared off, Inspector. I assumed he'd gone to the pub.
How do you like him for it, sir? Love ripens into vengeance?
Crime of passion? Possibly.
What about this syndicate,
this strange collection of locals who own Bantling Boy?
Trevor Machin was the Colonel's gardener. Osgood was his doctor.
Why leave Joanna Craxton a leg of the horse?
Pass.
Right, lunch. Then we'll find out.
He's off his food, Ray. Hasn't touched an oat.
The vet scoped him. Blood test.
Something or somebody's got to him. Somebody?
He's worth good money now. There's nothing in the way of security here.
Maybe we should move him. Where?
I don't know. Anywhere but here.
I'd like to be a million miles away myself.
Yeah, me too.
I'm only going as far as the forge, so call me if you need me.
DOGS BARK
My uncle was a bookmaker. Was he?
Yeah. In the blood, then, is it?
Used to carry the satchel for him at Kempton Park, do the old tick-tack.
130, Burlington Bertie, all that. What a sheltered life I've led.
I'm sure you've had your moments. Not at Kempton Park, I haven't.
Mr Craxton. Just a minute.
Mr Craxton, we are here to see your wife. Is she in?
She's in the back garden. Is this you, sir?
Yeah, we have medieval tournaments over at Bantling Hall every year
for charity.
Is that your son? Yeah. He loves all that malarkey.
Mad over it. This way.
Put a nasty dent in your skull. WMD, Scott.
Weapons of medieval destruction.
Mrs Craxton, I understand that you're one of the owners of Bantling Boy.
Yes.
I'm a visiting nurse. I looked after Lord Bantling during his illness.
And he left me a share in the horse.
We're establishing the whereabouts of people around about 10:00 last night.
Well, I was here with Peter. Were you all together all the time?
No, Ray had gone for a walk.
A walk? Tell them. Tell them what you like.
He just wanted to get out for some air.
You know, he wanted to be on his own.
Can I take it your husband is not entirely happy
about your involvement with Bantling Boy?
You'll have to ask him about that yourself. Excuse me.
Hiya.
What's that game you're playing? Secret Of The Ring.
Want a go? Yes. Yes, please.
Here. Hold this. MOBILE PHONE
OK. Now, wait.
Steady. Hello?
When I tell you, fire!
Yes, you got him.
Is killing people your idea of fun, young man?
It's only a game.
Er, sir, we've got a treble 9 call from Lodge Stables.
Marianna Hartley. I think we should get down there.
If all the killing in the world was only a game,
nobody would ever be hurt, would they?
No, that is true. Very true.
Out of the mouths of babes...
ELECTRONIC CHUCKLE
Somebody's prowling round. I've seen them twice now.
Bantling Boy's ailing. I'm worried he's been got at.
Got at?
I don't like saying this, but Foley was in trouble a few years ago.
A doping scandal. Race-fixing. Was he prosecuted?
Nothing was proved, but mud sticks. He had trouble getting rides.
That's why he came to us.
I presume if Bantling Boy is a sick horse, that could reduce his value.
Oh, yes, the vet's been up. It'll be all round the county by now.
Sam Tate wants to buy the horse. He could save himself a lot of money.
Yes. You don't think Sam Tate's behind this, do you?
We've spoken with Dr Osgood, Mrs Hartley,
and you haven't been entirely frank with us
about your relationship with him.
No.
Sorry.
Last night, after Bruce hit me, he stormed off.
I called John. He came up here but he left.
He has nothing to do with Bruce's death.
And what about you?
Were you angry with your husband that he'd attacked you?
Did you go looking for him? Find him in here then...
No!
I married a vulgar bully and, yes, I've wished him dead often enough.
But I didn't kill him.
Right now the most important thing is to increase your security.
Whoever killed your husband may have been trying to steal Bantling Boy
when he disturbed them.
I said to Ray to move him somewhere safer.
That would be a good idea. In the meantime, Sergeant Scott
can stay with him.
He's very good with horses. He spent many happy days with them.
Yes, sir. I'm not sure I fancy spending the night with one.
Cully.
How'd it go? I was wrong for the part.
Again.
It'll come. Will it?
I feel so useless, just sitting around waiting for my agent to ring.
I'm not making any money.
Just frittering away my life, you know?
I'm...sorry.
Hey, do you remember the Fallowfields?
Yeah, why?
Got to drop this off up there. Why don't you come along with me?
Take you out of yourself. It's all right, you don't have to.
I'm just a misery right now.
Come on, you know what they say. Misery needs company. Come on.
ã90? Yes, ã90.
Mrs Barnaby won that on Bantling Boy and she insisted that you have it.
Splendid. Need every bit of help we can get.
I wonder, Major, if you could help us out here.
We think that Bantling Boy has been got at
and/or someone is trying to steal him.
He needs stabling. Somewhere out of the way, somewhere safe.
This is the back of beyond.
Get nobody out here except the odd birdwatcher.
And the occasional rambler bimbling about.
Be safe enough here.
So, you think you can manage Bantling Boy?
Well, George, my head man's just retired.
92.
Lovable old biscuit. Complete horse nut, like myself.
Point being, it's left us a bit thin in the ranks.
Well, perhaps Cully could help you out
while you've got some time on your hands.
I wondered why you dragged me up here.
Doesn't pay much, I'm afraid. Just three square meals and BFH.
Bus fares home. Is that agreeable?
Sounds great.
Until I get a better offer.
CAT MIAOWS, DOGS BARK
RAT SQUEAKS
SQUEAKS
HORSE SNORTS
Police, stay where you are.
Why did you go on the run, Mr Foley?
The only running I did was to catch the last bus to Causton.
Bruce fired me, told me to clear out.
Why?
From what I hear, the success of Bantling Boy was down to you.
Why?
Bruce was a wannabe jockey but a few sizes too large.
That's why he jocked me off. Jealousy.
That made you bitter. Course it did.
Why did you go back to the stables last night, Jake?
I heard they called a vet out to Bantling Boy.
Someone got to him. Was it you?
I've raised that horse since a yearling. He's not sick.
He's pining. For you?
There's a bond between a horse and his minder that goes deep.
Your four-legged friend, is he?
Of course, you've doped your friends in the past, haven't you?
Fixed the odd race. That was malicious.
I was never charged with anything. I have to ask you this, Mr Foley.
Did you kill Bruce Hartley? No!
You wanna know who I think did it? Sam Tate.
Tate's Bread. Why him?
Him and Bruce had a right set-to after the race.
If anyone's gonna be dancing on Hartley's grave, it'll be Sam Tate.
With Bruce gone, that just leaves the doctor.
So don't disappoint me.
The police. I don't want to be seen here.
I don't want them in our business.
No, just keep out of sight.
If I'm on your list, you can cross me off right now.
Mr Tate, you had a bit of a run-in at the racecourse the other day.
He made a backside of himself, if that's what you mean.
I offered to buy Bantling Boy and what I want I usually get.
Mr Tate, have you or any of your acquaintances
been near Bantling Boy since the race?
No, nowhere near.
Do you live here alone, Mr Tate? Yes, divorced two years ago.
Happily unmarried ever since. Heard of Tate's Oven-Ready Bread?
Oh, indeed I have. ♪ The crust you can trust ♪
That's the one. It's disgusting but people buy it cos it saves time.
And time is money. I've got a board meeting in an hour, Inspector.
Bye. Thank you, Mr Tate, very much...
For your valuable time.
Bye.
Scott?
Can you run a car check on that? Yes, sir.
Certainly.
Sarge, it's DS Scott here.
Run a vehicle check on a registration for me, please.
Kilo 153 Echo Yankie Mike. No, I'll wait for it.
Thank you.
What do you make of Sam Tate? They reckon he started as a delivery boy.
Yeah, and I don't suppose he got rich keeping on the right side of the law.
Yeah? Thank you.
Cheers. Thanks very much.
It's Joanna Craxton's, sir. What's she doing up here?
I suspect she's come to see a man about a horse.
Bruce Hartley as Richard the Lionheart.
Cor! He were the biggest chicken I ever met.
Are we going to meet here? Peter's indoors.
I don't want him hearing our business.
Sam Tate wants an answer by tomorrow night.
We sell. Me and Joanna's agreed. What's your vote?
I think Marianna, as Bruce's wife, should have a say in this.
That's not the syndicate rules, Doctor. We own Bruce's share.
Morally, Marianna has a right. Morally?
You still knocking a slice off her? Trevor!
You'll be laughing all the way to Bruce's funeral, that's for sure.
That settles it. The horse is not for sale.
Goodbye.
He don't care, do he? Bloody toff!
DOOR SLAMS We've got another problem.
Bantling Boy is ailing. He's been shipped up to Fallowfields.
Who'll pay for that? I'm skint.
It's a charity, Trevor, but if word gets out, his price will drop.
Oh, damn Osgood.
We got to sell that horse before it drops dead in its stall.
Keep coming. Keep coming.
That's it. Back you come. Come on. Slowly.
Come on. Come on. Keep coming.
Keep coming. Whoa! That's it.
This takes me back to the pony-club trials. Remember the Causton Show?
Five-foot wall. You were an old worry-guts.
You were lucky to get away with just a broken arm. Grab that.
Greenstick fracture, wasn't it?
At least you got a lot of exercise out of it.
These days, kids seem stuck in front of computers all the time.
OK. Playing games, the entire purpose of which is to kill people.
The Craxton boy is obsessed with them.
He's nine years old, right? Nine years old.
We never let you play games like that, did we?
I hated computers. Films were my thing.
Having said that, at nine, my favourite film was Terminator.
Was it? Fascination with gruesome deaths
does run in the family. You think so?
Thanks, Dad. I'm gonna go. I've got to pick up Bantling Boy at 3:00.
Thank you, Cully. Thank you. Hey!
The phone ringing? No. I think my agent died.
I need to see him. Keep away from that horse.
He's pining. That's what's wrong. I'll call the police.
Calm down! Get out of my way.
Clear off, Jake. You heard her.
If anything happens to Bantling Boy...
Why have the police let him go? They haven't got anything on him.
I think he did it, Ray.
He hated Bruce. We all hated Bruce.
For the way he treated the horses.
The way he treated you made my blood boil.
HORN
I'll fetch Bantling Boy.
Think of it as a marriage of convenience.
Angela Hartley nee Bantling of Bantling Hall
and Sam Tate of Roughley Road, Barnsley.
Made in heaven. Sam, please!
This place will be sold off, developed, maybe even bulldozed.
Is that what you want for you and Geoffrey?
Not now, Geoffrey, please. We have business to discuss.
Well, he's settled in but still not feeding.
Jake Foley reckons he's pining for him.
Is it possible? Yes. Could be.
The Major mentioned he'd lost his head man.
Do you think he'd take on Jake Foley? He's very experienced.
Is there a risk? Do you suspect him?
No, I don't. I suspect he's genuinely fond of this horse.
Pining for Jake, are you, boy?
You know who killed him, don't you? Eh?
Don't! No! Leave me alone!
All right. It's not going to hurt. I don't want him touching me. Go!
Any vomiting? No, but he's been having nightmares.
And cold sweats.
Joanna's out on call, is she? Yes.
You did right to call me. It's always better to be safe than sorry.
CLOCK TICKS
Blow to the skull, exactly as with Bruce Hartley.
This was found tied round the victim's mouth like a gag.
Was that applied before or after the blow to the head?
Can't be sure. The head blow killed him. The skull's very crushed.
Anything back from Forensics on Craxton's hammer?
I'll chase it up. Thanks, George.
Bruce Hartley, John Osgood both opposed the sale of Bantling Boy.
Yeah.
Trevor and Joanna are free to sell the horse, yeah?
Yeah, and Sam Tate, who always gets what he wants,
now has a clear way to buy it.
I'd say that makes them joint favourites. Would you?
Dr Osgood is dead.
Death's the cost of living for all of us, ain't it?
There'll be no more problems cos me and Joanna will sell.
I'm not sure I can trust you, Trevor.
You've been keeping things from me, haven't you?
Bantling Boy's a sick horse. It's not you's been getting at him?
Shipped up to Fallowfields. Most horses come out of there feet first.
Are you buying, or not? 250,000.
That's half of what you said. You're no worse off.
Your stake's doubled now Osgood and Hartley are out.
This isn't sweetie money we're talking about.
Two of the owners of this horse have come to a sticky end, Trevor.
We don't want you suffering the same fate.
Are you threatening me?
Just making a once-and-only offer.
Phone me, Trevor.
It seems, Scott, that our Dr Osgood
paid a visit to the Craxtons yesterday.
What time?
Why do doctors write in Sanskrit? Can you make head or tail of that?
No.
It means they might've been the last ones to see him alive.
Let's give the Craxtons a house call of our own, shall we?
It was Ray who called the doctor. Peter was having nightmares.
I was out visiting a patient. The name of this patient?
Dickinson. But she's got Alzheimer's.
But she can't remember which way is up.
And the night that Bruce Hartley died,
you say you were at home here on your own, your husband gone for a walk.
With Peter. Are you implying I had something to do with these murders?
Well, the two people who refused to sell Bantling Boy are now dead.
And you are much the richer for it, aren't you?
It's not my doing.
None of it.
Oh! Who have we here?
I'm Sir Peter Bantling. Are you?
Rehearsals for the tournament. We're due up at the hall.
I hear, Peter, you've been having nightmares.
It could be The Secret Of The Ring. Computer games give me nightmares.
With The Secret Of The Ring, I'm never scared. Never, ever.
Look, I'm late, Inspector. Ray's up there waiting.
Peter, get in the car.
Bye. Bye, Sir Peter.
He's a fine little lad. Has he always been troubled with nightmares?
No more than most. It's a troubled world, isn't it?
Indeed it is.
Trevor, what is this proposition?
Sam Tate has cut his offer to 250. So?
Persuade him to up his bid
and I'll give you 20 per cent of every penny more
you can get out of him. Why do you think I have influence?
You got him round your little finger. He's a ladies' man.
What about Joanna? She ain't got your class, has she?
Tell Tate I will not sell, not for 250 grand. Never.
You may regret saying that.
Well, I'll take my chance. Thanks for the veg.
Can we have the yeomen, the bowmen and the camp followers into the jousting field NOW?
HORSE NEIGHS
Mr Craxton, a couple of questions, please.
What? In the middle of all this?
I'm in the middle of a murder enquiry,
and I believe you were the last person to see Dr John Osgood alive.
When he left mine, that was the last I saw of him.
Excuse me. I'm in the middle of a battle.
(INDISTINCT ARGUMENT)
You bought yourself a horse yet, Mr Tate?
No, but I'm working on it.
TREVOR: He can stuff his offer!
I wish you'd leave Sam to me, Trevor.
Put my trust in pillow talk? No.
Peter, would you take Mr Machin his drink, please?
No!
You, young man, will do as I say.
(YELLS) Little monkey!
Make ready.
Approach.
SCOTT: What's she doing, sir?
She's giving her favour to her chosen knight.
Making him the favourite, is that it?
That's where the phrase comes from.
Let battle commence.
DRUM ROLL
HORSES NEIGH
Vicar!
Give mercy.
(GROANS)
Ray and Joanna Craxton are a double act, sir.
They'll share the money from the horse sale. That's the motive.
Machin also stands to gain from that,
if money IS the motive behind all of this.
If it's not money, sir, what is it?
The boy. Peter. He's clearly upset. Having nightmares.
You should have seen him running at Trevor Machin with his sword.
I'm not with you on this, sir.
Scott, there's something between his mother and Trevor Machin...
makes the boy very angry.
Machin's got a hold over her?
Could be.
He was certainly keen to finger Dr Osgood when I spoke to him.
Tom, I thought you'd want to see this straight away.
Just back from Forensics. No prints, I'm afraid,
but it's a pretty close fit with the head wounds on Hartley and Dr Osgood.
Definitely the type of weapon you're looking for.
Ray Craxton's spent a lifetime swinging hammers like that, sir,
with deadly accuracy. But everybody knows that, Scott.
The killer could be using that fact.
CLASHING SWORDS
METAL CLANGS
CREAKING
The same hammer blow.
Exactly the same weapon profile, Tom. Skull crushed and this again.
Why would you do this? It's a statement.
They're being killed.
Then they're gagged.
They're being ritualistically silenced.
Would make sense of it.
But silenced about what? And by whom?
SAM: Inspector Barnaby's car, isn't it?
I'd better go. Take care.
Yeah, I was on my own. Working here till ten on them shields.
When did you last see Trevor Machin, Ray?
What's going on?
Trevor Machin was murdered last night.
Oh, my God!
You think I killed him. And Dr Osgood and Bruce Hartley. Right?
Can we continue this conversation at the station, Mr Craxton?
Ray.
He wouldn't harm a fly, let alone kill anybody.
Just his hobby, is it? Malleting people. Excuse me.
I liked none of them, no.
Nevertheless, your wife now owns outright a horse worth half a million pounds.
Everybody in Midsomer's made money out of that horse. Even the vicar.
Look, it caused me and Joanna nothing but arguments.
I killed nobody.
Why are you picking on me?
Because you don't have an alibi for the times of the murders.
What about Sam Tate and that cow Angela Hartley?
You haven't pulled them in.
Come on. We've questioned everyone alike, no matter who they are.
You're not going to get the right answer questioning the wrong man.
I didn't do it.
The police think that Ray killed all three of them.
Well, they're wrong, aren't they?
What if Ray starts talking...
about the syndicate?
He knows everything, Angela.
All of it.
Me...
You. How does he know?
Did you tell him?
I had to! Bruce threatened to tell everybody.
I wanted Ray to hear it from me.
Stay calm, Joanna. We don't need to panic.
I can look after Peter as long as you like.
We're in this together.
Always have been.
We searched Craxton's cottage till we ran out of places to look.
Nothing. Any luck your end? No. He's denying any involvement.
We've got nothing. We'll have to release him.
Take a look at that. That's the Bantling family crest.
It's got to be him. Can't we lean on him a bit, keep his feet to the fire?
Sergeant, this is Midsomer, not the Met.
Did they not teach you about the holy trinity?
There are three things required before you move from suspicion to conviction.
Motive, opportunity and evidence.
And the greatest of these three, my son,
is evidence, which in Ray's case we do not have.
Yeah, but, sir... He will be released.
Bring that along with you.
See him fly! His feet are wings! Keeper of the secret of the ring!
Shoes on! Quick sticks! (PLAYFUL LAUGH)
We'll be late.
DOORBELL
Who the hell's that?
What do you see?
Well, it's... it's a coat of arms, isn't it?
Yeah. The hammer and the pennant.
Now we have three people killed with a hammer
and two of them were gagged, each with a triangular cloth in the shape of the pennant.
There could be a connection, sir, but why not gag all three of the victims?
Why not indeed? Something different about Bruce Hartley's death...
Oh, Inspector. We were just going to Fallowfields to see Bantling Boy.
Lady Hartley, could you tell me, where were you last night?
You and Geoffrey?
I was working in my office on some accounts.
The boys were playing their computer games. Is that all?
Geoffrey, that shield up there.
What does that mean to you?
The crest of the Bantlings. Into the car, boys.
Goodbye.
Peter.
If you think Geoffrey had anything to do with these dreadful murders, you're very much off track.
He's completely harmless.
I'm sure he is.
But I have to ask these questions, Lady Hartley.
And sometimes the most unlikely people do the most extraordinary things. Don't they?
I'll drop you off at the station, Scott, if I may.
Head up to Fallowfields with them.
Put it away now, Peter.
The secret of the ring.
CAR STARTS UP
The secret of the ring.
I want to get out, Ray. Yes, so do I.
I meant you and me and our Peter.
We just pack everything and go.
I want us to start again.
We could be back to how we were.
Just us three. No, Joanna.
There's no going back.
You destroyed all that.
You and Angela and the whole damn lot of them!
Ray, please! To hell with you!
It's all cleared with the custody sergeant, Mr Craxton. You're free to go.
Thanks...for nothing.
Doesn't Bantling Boy look a picture? Yes, he does.
Can I give him this? Can he?
I think he'd love it.
GEOFFREY: Can I stroke him?
Of course you can, Geoffrey.
HORSE NEIGHS
He doesn't like you, Geoffrey.
He only likes ME.
Can I ride him? Is that all right, Major?
You can sit on him, yes. OK, Peter. Go on.
One, two, three, up!
Sir Peter on his charger.
He's the best!
Out of Midsomer Girl by Bantling Brave
from Knight's Maiden by King's Charter
who was out of Royal Dynasty. All right. We've heard enough.
It's breeding, you see. It's in the blood.
Everything's in the breeding.
METAL CLANGS
Ray?
Are you in there, Ray?
DOOR CREAKS
DOOR SLAMS SHUT
(SCREAMS)
CLASHING SWORDS
It's Joanna Craxton. Head caved in.
Dead? Yes, same as the others.
Ray Craxton found her.
My money says he put her there as well.
I thought you were holding him. We were.
I've just had the Super on, wanting to know why he was released.
It's the holy trinity. Motive, opportunity and evidence,
the greatest of which is evidence, which in Craxton's case we didn't have. Did we?
No. I preferred my doubts to your certainties.
Lady Hartley, can you look after Peter? His father will be with us.
Yes, of course.
You'll never get your hands on him!
NEVER!
Thank you.
SIREN
"You'll never get your hands on him," he said.
Meaning the horse?
Ta... Or his son.
Craxton clearly resents Angela Hartley's closeness to Joanna
and her owning a share in Bantling Boy.
Scott, there's something staring us in the face here
and we are missing it. About Joanna? The syndicate?
The syndicate.
Yeah. As each member of the syndicate died,
their share was passed on to the remaining members of the syndicate
until Joanna Craxton owned the lot.
But now she's dead,
who owns the horse?
It's a matter of your husband's will.
The bequest of Bantling Boy.
I've left my note book. Excuse me.
TRIES DOOR
SOUNDS OF PLAYFUL SWORDFIGHT
PETER: You're my champion, Sir Geoffrey.
Now that Joanna Craxton's dead, who owns Bantling Boy?
The terms of the will are that the horse now belongs to Peter.
To Peter?
Oh, come on, Barnaby, you're a man of the world.
Peter's mother Joanna...
nursed my husband.
Were they lovers?
Nine years ago, my husband raped Joanna.
PETER: Get up!
Until the death! Peter!
Joanna was Catholic. So were the Hartleys.
Just as a divorce was out of the question for me, so was abortion for her.
I paid her money.
Every week.
She kept quiet and she kept the child.
Osgood was his doctor, Machin was his gardener,
and I take it they and your son Bruce all knew what had happened to Joanna.
They knew.
And that's why your husband left all the Bantling Boy shares
to the four of them as a reward for their silence.
Yes.
BEEP
Peter is very fond of Bantling Boy.
I doubt he'd want him sold to Mr Tate.
We'll see.
It will be Peter's decision.
Oh, I hope it is.
Your sergeant seems to have gone missing.
Perhaps we'd better find him.
Sergeant Scott?
BEEP
Are you looking for something, Sergeant?
Er...the toilet.
This way.
It's a proprietary game taken off the internet,
but it's been modified. They've added some variables, loops.
And in English that is?
Someone's taken the original game and expanded on it.
The object now seems to be to redeem the honour of the Bantling.
So I followed the pathway plan through to the final level,
where I found this secret chamber.
And then this.
The victims' names are all there, sir.
Bruce Hartley, Dr Osgood, Trevor Machin and Joanna Craxton.
That's grotesque.
All of the deaths are described,
each one using medieval language.
"Ye hammer of vengeance and ye pennant of pride."
The quest seems to be to take revenge on the ring,
the betrayers of the secret.
Could the ring be the syndicate?
The ring of owners of Bantling Boy?
The hero of the game is Sir Peter riding a mighty steed.
It all ties in with Craxton's obsession with battle recreation and medieval weapons.
Why put that on Peter's computer?
I think he's used the game to rehearse the killings before he carries them out.
Could Geoffrey have created this?
No, it's beyond him. He's got an IQ of about...two.
I think that when Joanna told Ray that Peter wasn't his son...
it tipped him over the edge into this.
I don't know what games you're talking about.
The Secret of the Ring - the game you downloaded onto Peter's laptop.
His laptop? I hate them things.
I work with my hands, Inspector.
I'm computer illiterate.
When did you first discover
that Peter wasn't your real son, Mr Craxton?
Joanna told me the night Bruce Hartley was killed
that Peter wasn't mine.
They all knew, the whole syndicate.
They've been laughing behind my back for years.
Mr Craxton, four people are to be buried,
the very ones you say were laughing at you behind your back.
I didn't kill them!
My wife is dead.
And to me, Peter is still my son.
So either charge me or let me go home and look after him.
The game on your computer, Peter.
The Secret of the Ring.
What's it about?
The quest of the Bantling.
Quest?
To take back the secret of the ring.
Did your father invent the game, Peter? Did you play it with Ray?
He is not my father.
I don't want to see him ever again.
DOOR SLAMS I had to tell him, Inspector.
It's his birthright to know who he is.
What he is. He's my husband's son.
He's heir to the lordship and manor of Bantling.
Lady Hartley, if I may, I'd like to examine your computer, please.
Feel free.
I've nothing to hide. Thank you.
Mr Craxton.
Mr Craxton, you are free to go.
But...
I must seriously advise you not to try and approach Peter.
I want my son.
Please. Be warned.
For his sake and for yours.
Stay away from Peter.
Get anything from Lady Hartley's computer?
Plenty to interest the Inland Revenue, but nothing for us so far.
I've had to let Craxton go.
We've got nothing on him - no blood stains,
no weapon, no fingerprints, nothing.
It's a bit of a risk, isn't it, sir?
Yes. Yes, it is.
Scott, you can leave that.
You follow Craxton. Don't let him out of your sight.
Sit tight on that cottage.
Yes, sir.
We had a deal. You can't back out now after everything I've done.
Anything you've done, Sam, you did for yourself.
And you're Lady Bountiful? Come off it, Angela.
You're as ruthless as I am. We're two of a kind.
I hardly think so.
You think you can ditch me now?
Now you can control Bantling Boy through Peter?
No way!
Please, don't raise your voice in my kitchen.
I will not change my mind. Oh, yes, you will, Angela.
Only fools and the departed never change their minds.
DOG BARKS
RUSTLING
What's another word for con man?
Nine letters, ending in R.
Ray Craxton's son Peter, he really is extraordinary.
Fraudster. Pardon?
Con man. Nine letters ending in R.
He can remember Bantling Boy's pedigree back four or five generations.
The sires, the mares, everything.
That hadn't occurred to me.
I never thought of that, even as a possibility.
What? Something Scott said.
To quest: to take revenge on the Ring, the betrayers of the Secret.
KEYBOARD CLATTERING
To redeem the honour of the Bantling.
Give me the dictionary.
Ta.
Honour of the Bantlings, eh?
Band. Banshee. Bantam...
Bantling!
Oh!
Oh, of course.
Sleep well, Peter.
Mmmuh! Sleep tight.
Night, Geoffrey.
Say good night, Geoffrey.
Good night.
It's the three of us now, boys.
Nothing more to worry about, Geoffrey, nothing, not now.
This will be our family home for ever!
MOBILE PHONE RINGS
Barnaby.
'Sir, it's Scott. I've lost Craxton. He's on the loose, I'm afraid.'
OK, Scott. Get over to Bantling Hall as fast as you can.
Ray!
I told you to stay away. I want my son!
CHILD SCREAMS
Peter!
SCREAMING
Peter!
SCREAMING
(UPSTAIRS) No, no, don't do it!
No, no, Geoffrey!
No!
No, leave him! Peter!
No, no, no, no, no!
No, no, no, no!
I don't want to! No!
I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!
You're a traitor! Betrayer!
Leave me alone!
It was you, Geoffrey, wasn't it? You did all this killing.
Bruce and Trevor, John and Joanna. It was YOU, wasn't it?
Is that true, Geoffrey?
No! Was it you?
Yeah, but not by himself, Lady Hartley.
Not by himself.
Surely, you're not suggesting -
Oh, no. He did it at Peter's bidding.
Isn't that right, Peter?
Oh, Peter.
Peter?
Geoffrey.
On the night Bruce died,
can you remember where you were about ten o'clock?
Bruce upset Angela. And that upset you, too, did it?
Yes! He was mean to her.
And he wouldn't sell the horse
to help Angela keep Bantling Hall.
You and that half-wit brother of yours!
No!
(Angela...)
This is home, Angela.
I want to stay here. Oh, Geoffrey.
So, you went out looking for him, Geoffrey.
Yes.
I crept up on him.
He didn't see me.
CLANG
Then I found a hammer, so I...
NEIGHING
WHINNY
What did you do with the hammer?
I hid it.
In the priests' hiding hole.
Oh!
You couldn't find it!
The idea for that game, Geoffrey, that was Peter's, wasn't it? Yes!
He has a lot of ideas, doesn't he...Peter?
And you are his best friend, Geoffrey.
You don't have secrets from one another.
No.
Bet you told him, didn't you?
You told him what you'd done to Bruce.
He said he'd tell on me if I didn't...
and they would take me away and put me in prison!
Why, Geoffrey?
Why did Peter want you to do to the others what you'd done to Bruce?
Because...!
Because they betrayed the secret.
What secret?
That Peter was a Bantling?
Yes.
He overheard his mum and dad fighting about it.
He thinks of himself as yours. He's yours!
He is the bastard son of the Hartleys,
that is what he is!
(SOBBING)
They'd been arguing about you, hadn't they, Peter?
Yes.
Your mother told your father that you weren't really his son.
That you were...a Bantling.
Yes, I am a Bantling.
The word bantling was an ancient medieval term for...bastard.
Isn't that right?
And you knew that word, didn't you? From your medieval myths,
and your codes of chivalry.
You knew what it meant to be a bantling.
To wear the badge of shame, forfeit all honour,
be mocked, scorned, outcast for ever.
And the Ring were the owners of Bantling Boy,
who knew the secret.
They were the Possessors, sworn to keep it safe.
Once betrayed, the Secret must be taken back.
But how, Peter, how?
By the Knight Champion, with the Hammer Of Vengeance and the Pennant Of Pride in his hand.
He could steal back the Secret Of The Ring.
And Geoffrey was your Knight Champion, was he?
GEOFFREY: I want to be Lord Of The Manor now.
No, you're Knight Champion, Sir Geoffrey, brave and fearless.
So, Geoffrey stole back the secret by silencing them one by one.
That was his quest in that computer game that you created.
Yes.
And you almost won that duel, didn't you? Eh, Peter?
Colonel Hartley's Bantling Boy...
..and Colonel Hartley's title...
..would be all yours.
It's breeding.
Class will tell.
Horses and people alike.
It wasn't a game, Peter!
Peter...
I don't think he can hear us, Mr Craxton.
What I don't understand, sir, is why Geoffrey turned on Peter in the end.
Peter's last command to Geoffrey was to kill Angela,
because she knew about his Bantling secret, as well.
But Geoffrey liked Angela, she was his sister.
He couldn't do it, so he turned on Peter instead.
Makes you feel a bit queasy, sir.
A little kid like that using his computer to turn murder into a game.
Ah, Scott, when killing becomes entertainment,
we all lose touch with reality. We'll turn in here.
Sir? Tell the landlord we are onto the thefts in his car park.
TV: With just two furlongs to go
Ruby Mist has Bantling Boy on his shoulder.
Jake Foley sitting with a double handful.
Foley asks for an effort now and Bantling Boy storms into the lead!
And Bantling Boy wins his comeback race at a canter!
Have you had a bet on, sir? I have, Scott.
I made myself a nice little killing.
Subtitles by ITFC