BELL TOLLS
OWL HOOTS
Charlie, psst!
Psst!
Come along.
Do yourself up.
Good night, Arthur.
♪ Midsomer Rhapsody
MUSIC STOPS
Come out.
What are YOU doing in my house?
Skull cracked like an egg. Arthur Leggott - retired music teacher.
Much respected and admired. Missing from the Cedars Care Home.
What was he sneaking around here for in the night? What was he after?
Probably the same as whoever did this.
Well, looks like they had a hell of a job finding it.
No forced entry. He must have been followed in.
Or else someone was already in here.
The auctioneers obviously have a key - they'd started cataloguing it -
and, I assume, the care home.
What was here that was so important to him?
Music. Nothing else mattered.
He was respected and admired, Scott,
because he encouraged and inspired so many people,
including the great Joan Alder.
Joan Alder? Midsomer Rhapsody?
Yeah. Do you know that piece?
My mum was a fan. She played it when she wanted us out of the house.
Oh.
♪ Keep smiling through
♪ Just like you
♪ Always do
♪ Till the blue skies
♪ Drive the grey clouds far away
♪ And will you please say hello
♪ To the folks that I know?
♪ Tell them I won't be long
♪ They'll be happy to know
♪ That when you saw me go
♪ I was singing this song
♪ We'll meet again
♪ Don't know where
♪ Don't know when
♪ But I know we'll meet again
♪ Some sunny day ♪
Peggy.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry about this.
Arthur liked us to sing that song.
One of his favourites.
This is Charlie. Oh, of course. Hello, Charlie.
Congratulations. I'm sorry I haven't -
Listen, half the folk invited, I haven't met yet.
What do you expect from a whirlwind romance?
Swept you off your feet, did he?
Oh, I'm sorry. This is Detective Sergeant Scott.
And we'd like very much, if we may, to talk to you later on.
Well, we're all waiting...
..to be interrogated.
Thank you.
But first, I'd like to look at Arthur's room.
Yeah.
DOOR CLOSES So who's Vera Lynn?
That's Peggy Alder, Scott.
What, Joan Alder's mum? Yes, indeed.
The one whose house they're trying to turn into some shrine?
The Joan Alder Society prefer to call it a living museum.
Then you know the family? Yes, I do, through Joyce.
I don't get it, sir. I mean...
She wasn't exactly your John Lennon, was she?
She only wrote one song. She wrote lots more than that.
Lovely music. Beautiful music.
But you're right. It's Midsomer Rhapsody she's most famous for.
What one thing could Arthur Leggott have had that was of so much value?
A second, undiscovered rhapsody? Hmm.
Yeah. Maybe.
Mrs Alder?
Thank you.
Bit of all right, in't she?
Fancied her the first time I set eyes on her.
He'd taken to wandering.
But this was the first time he'd done it in the middle of the night.
We were old friends, Tom. I know you were, Peggy.
Which makes it all the more stupid that we fell out the way we did.
He accused our Melody of stealing.
Wouldn't let it alone.
I said I'd never speak to him again.
I never dreamed I wouldn't.
Stealing?
It was all old music sheets. He was giving them to Charlie.
Did he have any visitors?
Only Laura Crawford.
Who's Laura Crawford?
Joan's agent. Writing a book about her.
She came to see me, then Arthur. Er...sorry to bother you,
but shall we cancel? What?
The preview. Melody said... Oh, Alan Thorpe, my son-in-law.
So, we'll do it later, huh?
Why would I want to go and look at something I lived in 40 years ago?
I'll leave you to it.
Because you said you wanted to.
I made the arrangements. Well, I can't.
I'll see it at the opening.
I'll just go and have a word with Melody.
You got the cooker, then?
Pardon?
Mr Swinscoe said he'd got an exact replica.
What do you want to go getting a pokey little thing like that for?
People will think we were poverty-stricken.
You WERE.
I don't know what was in the box, I didn't look.
I thought it must be something of Joan's.
So he sent you to his house to bring it back.
When? When was that?
About a month ago.
Why you?
Well, I used to take him his groceries.
He trusted me, I suppose.
But what has a box file got to do with his death?
I don't know.
Yet.
MAN: He'll be here, Mr Swinscoe. MR SWINSCOE: I open in two days!
He promised me.
Just go and drag him out of the pub and get him in here,
finishing what I want finished now.
All coming together, I see.
Oh, Inspector Barnaby. This is Detective Sergeant Scott.
Well, it all fell into decline with multi-occupation in the '50s and '60s,
when the Alders lived here, but we're making progress.
You are indeed.
I assume this is about Mr Leggott.
Yes.
Well, do come in.
Oh, yes. It's very good.
Mr Swinscoe, when did you first know of Mr Leggott's bequest?
A couple of months ago, by solicitor's letter.
For the sake of argument, let's assume something is worth a fortune in Arthur Leggott's collection.
Have you got any idea what it might be? None.
A Joan Alder manuscript, perhaps?
Oh, I wish.
Other than yourself, can you think of anyone
who might have an interest in the contents of his house?
Well, I suppose Michael Maybury.
He might not want any more of his wife's papers to fall into our hands.
If you ask me, he doesn't want to celebrate Joan's life,
cos he doesn't want any questions reopened about her death.
An overdose of antidepressants and too much alcohol
caused Joan to fall asleep at the wheel.
Her case was fully investigated at the time.
No charges were brought. None were ever contemplated.
It's made him rich, though, hasn't it? All those posthumous royalties.
MOBILE PHONE RINGS
Hello? Mr Bullard's finished, sir.
The auctioneers are outside the house.
Ta. George, it's Tom.
Can you keep 'em on hold till Scott gets there? OK.
Thank you.
I want you to oversee the cataloguing of everything in that house.
Before any box file gets taken away, you go through each and every one.
Right, sir.
Was Peggy all right?
Upset.
He was a gentleman, Tom.
That's why I liked him.
He lived such a life, you know.
So many people grateful for his teaching.
And, then, to go like that...
So will you still go to the opera?
I don't think so.
Not now.
He was going to be the best man.
Moving on. A retirement gift.
Inscribed.
A nice little dedication by Joan Alder.
Who'll start me at ã1,000?
Come on now. Anywhere?
ã250. LAUGHTER
I'm sorry, sir. The bid is over here at 1,000.
ã1200, anywhere? 12. 14.
15.
16.
One-six.
For ã1600.
BANGS GAVEL Sold! Laura Crawford.
Exceeding all expectations, eh?
Marvellous. Now, then...
Box files. Miscellaneous song sheets.
Dozens of them. First one... ã5, anywhere?
No? Two, then.
Come on now.
BANGS GAVEL
Sold to Mr Crane. How many do you want, sir?
I'll take the lot. Box files to Mr Crane.
There you go, Scott.
A man's life, sold to the highest bidder.
A market for everything, sir.
So it seems. And our miscellaneous boxes, a bargain at ã2 apiece.
Junk in every one of them. Hey! Hey!
That's Laura Crawford.
Joan Alder's agent.
CLOCK CHIMES
Ooh, Arthur.
You little beauty.
Harvey Crane here.
Guess what I've just found.
DOG BARKS IN DISTANCE
Inspector Barnaby, come in.
Mr Maybury.
My assistant, Mrs Smeeton.
How do you do? Hello.
Valerie told me about Arthur Leggott.
It's all round the village.
How well did you know Arthur Leggott?
My first wife introduced us.
He was a lovely old boy.
He came over for dinner, now and then.
Joan adored him.
And after your wife's death?
Well, no.
What kept us together kept us apart, I suppose. Too painful.
It seems that Arthur Leggott was attempting to retrieve something.
Is it possible that there was an early manuscript of Joan's?
A few bars on the back of an exercise book would get good money.
Really?
With a fool like Swinscoe buying up everything he can get his hands on,
everybody in Badgers Drift is emptying out their cupboards.
If such a manuscript did exist,
might you want to retrieve it for your own archives?
I didn't steal it, if that's what you're asking.
Where were you around midnight last night?
Here.
Can someone vouch for that? I can.
I was here all night.
KNOCK AT DOOR
Yes?
I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby. This is DS Scott.
May we come in?
Of course.
How can I help?
I understand that your London agency represented Joan Alder,
during her lifetime, and now you manage her estate. Is that correct?
Yes.
I understand too that you're working on a biography of her.
As her agent, her friend,
her lover,
I'd say I'm perfectly placed to be her biographer, wouldn't you?
Official?
By that, I assume you mean, do I have the approval of Michael Maybury?
No. Why not?
Because he knows I never believed in the loving, caring husband.
But he lets you manage her estate.
The bird might sing, Sergeant, if she was set free.
What song might the bird sing, madam?
You're not here about a 20-year-old crime.
No, we're here about Arthur Leggott.
I visited him at the Cedars.
What did he tell you? Nothing much that I could use.
His memory of her had been sprinkled with stardust in his dotage.
Did he mention being in possession of a manuscript that was hers,
or something to do with her?
He didn't, but I gather he was.
Ahh.
Harvey Crane. You just missed him.
An early manuscript of Joan's turned up in a box of rubbish at the auction.
I checked every one, sir.
And he offered it for sale, did he?
How much? I offered ã50,000.
(Phew!) Must be on a good commission.
Royalties from Rhapsody alone bring in a quarter of a million a year.
Maybury gets it all as next of kin? PHONE RINGS
For now. What do you mean, "For now"?
Are you going to the house opening? Yes, I will.
Good, I'll see you there. Should be a most interesting event.
Hello, darling.
And you definitely found the manuscript in one of these boxes?
Yes.
And they all came from the auction? Yes.
And you knew straightaway what it was?
Well, of course.
A dated version of Rhapsody.
Earlier than anyone believed it to have been written.
So you took it to Laura Crawford?
Well, just to show somebody.
I had no intention of selling it.
Who gave you the black eye?
I walked into a cupboard.
You walked into a fist.
Who else did you show the manuscript to?
Michael Maybury.
And what did he say?
He had the audacity to suggest I had manufactured it.
Why? Is it possible that someone could have faked it?
Of course not. How can you be so sure?
Because I took it to the one person who would definitely know.
The authority on all things Joan Alder -
Owen Swinscoe.
And?
He bought it, Inspector.
There's your authentication.
So Owen Swinscoe now has the manuscript?
He paid a deposit, I gave him a copy.
He'll get the real thing
when I have official authentication and the rest of the money.
How much will that be?
ã120,000. (WHISTLES IN SURPRISE)
Where would he get that much money?
The Leggott legacy, one supposes.
Ah, well, that... that's on hold, Mr Crane.
What?
Y-you can't stop me making a sale on this, can you?
Yes, I can.
I can postpone it for as long as the item for sale is evidence
in a murder case, Mr Crane.
Where is it?
Get that to George Bullard, Scott. Yes, sir.
Gently. Thank you.
I'm positive I went through every one, sir. There was nothing.
I believe you. I don't believe that manuscript went through the auction.
You think Crane took it from Arthur Leggott's house?
Well, somebody took it.
And somehow it ended up in a box in Harvey Crane's shop.
We used to think it was composed when she was in South America with John Farrow,
but this new manuscript is written in a very distinctive,
careful, neat hand - not the wild scribble of later years.
We do have a sample of her earlier handwriting. This is just like it.
It was always rumoured that it was John Farrow
who collaborated with Joan in the composition.
Well, that's the interesting thing. These notes here. Look!
This is not John Farrow's writing.
And there are musical phrases here written in this new hand.
And here,
she's incorporated those musical phrases,
which would mean that she started to work on Rhapsody
while she was still a schoolgirl.
Isn't that incredible? Taking lessons with Arthur Leggott.
Yes. Which could explain why he had the manuscript.
So...who's the mystery man or woman?
Well, whoever it is, Scott,
it puts them in a position to claim a share of those royalties.
I know you'd like this to have pride of place at the opening tomorrow,
but I'm afraid no-one, but no-one,
must know of the existence of this new manuscript,
nor of its implications.
But... This has cost me, Inspector...
My own money.
Who's this John Farrow? John Farrow?
Well, he was the real thing, as far as Joan was concerned.
What happened? His father intervened.
Joan wasn't a saint.
Sometimes she made mistakes.
Biggest mistake she made was Michael Maybury.
She'd be here today if it wasn't for him.
You can't just say things like that.
She wrote to me when she was in the mental ward.
Peggy, please, we're going to the opening.
You know she did.
But, strangely enough, this letter got burned.
Do you think I'd lie about a thing like that?
I burnt it, because if he'd got his hands on it,
he would have used it to keep her where he'd put her.
He'd put her in there for her own safety.
Say what you like.
Michael Maybury sent my daughter round the bend.
Could we get a move on, please?
♪ Midsomer Rhapsody
Ladies and gentlemen -
..it is with the greatest pleasure that I am able to introduce to you
a certain young woman who destiny has brought us today.
A woman who took it upon herself to discover her true parentage.
Her trail brought her to me,
only to discover with profound sadness,
that both her parents had passed away.
But with that sadness came an immense pride,
in discovering who her birth mother was.
Ladies and gentlemen,
I give you Joan Alder's daughter.
Sarah. MURMURINGS
HORN HONKS
THUD
She didn't even have the decency to tell that poor girl
that her own grandmother was in the audience.
Well, I get the feeling that's Laura Crawford's style.
Set up a photo opportunity... And light the blue touch paper.
And poor Peggy.
I mean, she could have died of the shock.
It was wonderful. I wouldn't have missed it for the world.
It kept you glued to your seat.
An accident waiting to happen.
What - Hedge? Or Joe Smeeton?
Joe. Drinking. He was off the rails.
I met his wife up at Michael Maybury's house.
Soon to be ex-wife.
Did Joe Smeeton ever have a fling with Joan Alder?
I know when Joan came back from South America he was there for her.
South America?
She took off with John Farrow.
John's father Noah made sure he couldn't continue at college.
He did everything he could to stop them from being together.
What he did was drive them away.
So what happened?
John Farrow died down there.
He got involved in drugs, apparently.
The story was that a car full of thugs and guns turned up one morning,
dragged him from his bed, he was bundled into the car.
Joan never saw him again.
Somehow she managed to get back to this country,
not a penny in her pocket, just a few manuscripts and a suitcase.
How sad.
But one of those manuscripts was about to make her a fortune.
She was pregnant when she came home too.
It just came out backwards.
Into the driveway.
Nobody could have avoided it.
What were you doing outside the hall that night, Joe?
I wanted to shame Swinscoe into paying me the money he owed me.
I need it for matters pending.
What matters would they be, Joe?
It's my missus.
Not content with kicking me in the crotch with Maybury.
Now she wants a divorce so she can marry the bastard!
I built him that bloody conservatory, an' all!
I'll take the sledge hammer to it first.
Oh, that'll fix it.
Where were you last Wednesday around midnight?
What? The night of Arthur's murder.
About 50 yards from the Badger's.
I fell in a ditch. Couldn't get up.
Very cosy.
Why do they call him Hedge?
That's what he does for a living.
Laying hedges, copsing.
Willow weaving.
Anything that'll get him a meal.
Do we know his real name? No.
Let's find out, shall we?
He wasn't just passing when Smeeton knocked him down.
He was at the window, watching.
CLASSICAL MUSIC Listen.
You're not allowed. It's my home.
How long have you lived round here?
10, 15 year.
What's your real name, Hedge?
I never bother anyone. I don't cause trouble.
Your past is sitting in a bed and breakfast in Badgers Drift.
Sarah.
You never knew, did you?
Is that what sent you reeling into the road?
So you didn't die in South America.
I was selling short.
I was selling on what I managed to keep back.
They found out.
I used my father to bargain for my life.
I wrote and wrote. After months, I got a letter. "Go to hell."
One day I saw my chance and I took it.
I ran for days.
I came home to a grave in a churchyard 15 years too late.
No, I didn't know she was pregnant.
Why did you assume a new identity?
I'd been on the outside of my life too long to claim it back.
And you never contacted anyone you once knew?
No.
But Arthur Leggott.
One day I caught him watching me.
I was by her grave. It was her birthday.
It was dusk. I thought no-one was about.
You think he realised who you were?
I think maybe he did, yes.
And that was it?
No other contact?
All right.
He told me he had a manuscript he wanted me to have.
Do you...
Do you think she'd want to see me?
Even falling in love didn't stop her.
"He set my music on fire," she'd say.
I never saw anyone as much in love as she was.
I'd catch her looking at him sometimes.
As if her soul was swimming in the wake of him.
And then Noah Farrow found out.
The next time I saw her, I didn't recognise her.
Skin and bone, and pregnant with you.
You were a miracle, my love.
Because she'd nothing left.
And I couldn't cope with the both of you.
What I'm saying is,
it wasn't your mother that had you taken away, Sarah.
It was me.
Blame me.
She never gave up looking for you, you know.
Hello, Tom.
Peggy. Charlie.
My granddaughter.
Hello, Sarah.
Hello.
What can I do for you, Tom?
It's more, Peggy, what I can do for you.
Or, rather, both of you.
My, you are in demand, aren't you?
Yup. Dad was supposed to have done this one.
When are they letting him out? He's out.
Be in the Badger's, then? How's Hedge?
He'll survive.
Look, he didn't mean to hurt anybody, all right?
He's got a lot on his mind at the moment.
Him and Mum are getting a divorce.
Well?
Mr Farrow? Mr Noah Farrow?
I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.
This is Detective Sergeant Scott.
May we have a word, please?
About? Arthur Leggott.
A violent end to an immoral life.
Immoral?
He delivered my son into the arms of a common slut
who ruined his life.
Leggott's death is a judgment.
Is that what your religion tells you?
Is there anything else?
Yes. What does your religion tell you about turning your back
on your own flesh and blood in their hour of need?
My dogs need exercise.
I should get walking.
DOGS HOWL
That's a very bitter, foolish, fond old man.
Why didn't you tell him his son was still alive?
I will. Once he's worth talking to.
If he's still got that amount of hate in him,
imagine what he must have been like 30 years ago when he was...capable.
Yeah, you can drop me anywhere round here.
I'm not allowed to see where you live?
This'll do fine.
Can I... Can I see you again?
Would you like to?
Of course.
Tomorrow?
Let me take you for dinner.
Let me take you.
Joan Alder wasn't the sole composer.
There's absolutely no doubt about it.
This whole section is written in another hand.
And then it's used in the completed version in Joan's hand.
Some of the notes and scribbles - again the other hand.
"Would this work?"
Then Joan's own notes, "Yes, thank you for this."
Now, it's not John Farrow.
Because I've checked the writing with some of his work.
Essays, music in one of the box files.
But why would Arthur Leggott want John Farrow to have this...
if it shows that someone else helped write it?
You may like the romantic notion of another hand being involved.
But it just brings into question everything Joan wrote.
It could bring a massive interest.
Barnaby was right to suggest
we keep this whole undiscovered manuscript business to ourselves.
KNOCK ON DOOR
John Farrow!
May we talk?
Well, come in, come in. Please.
We've tried to get everything right, circa 1965.
Here's this plate.
Oh, our Secretary, Mr Alan Thorpe.
Alan, this is John Farrow.
Alan Thorpe.
You married Joan's older sister, Melody.
I did. I came to your engagement party.
We gave you a set of place mats.
(LAUGHS) John.
Well, it's a shock, John, I'll say that.
I have a letter.
From Joan.
I was wondering if you'd like to buy it.
If you're interested.
We could be.
Don't you think?
And this holds no sentimental value?
Yes.
Why sell it, then?
That's my business.
How much?
ã200?
Cash.
If you'll...just give us a moment.
By all means.
May I have a look around?
Oh, please, do. Yes.
(MUTTERS)
I could sell this tomorrow for ten times that!
I'm not so sure.
Come on, this is fantastic stuff. She was crazy for him.
We haven't got the cash.
Write me a cheque.
You've done a good job. Oh, thank you.
And from John Farrow himself, that is a great compliment.
Thanks.
He wouldn't let me see where he lives.
It's a mucky old caravan, that's why.
Oh, well, I don't care.
No, but he thinks you might.
I want us to get to know one another.
He's taking me for dinner.
Oh! Well, that's nice. Mmm.
Who's paying?
He is.
What with?
What do you think?
Wedding suit.
Oh. Fine.
She'll never know the difference.
Mind you, she's not exactly 20-20 vision.
Blinded by love, see.
I'm a lucky man.
Excuse me. Is it Peggy Alder?
The same.
Oh. Please give her my best wishes.
I will.
The name?
Hedge.
Hospital Hedge?
Yes, of course you are.
Hey, you're coming back with me.
Oh, no, I can't. She wants to see you.
Well, she will, but I just need a bit of time to sort things out.
Well, she'll kill me if I say I've seen you and not brought you back.
Another day, hm?
What about next Saturday? The wedding? How are you fixed?
Well, I - You're coming.
You'll be very welcome, old lad.
Charlie Speight. You're almost part of the family.
Ever since you walked under that truck,
I've heard nothing else but John Farrow.
Listen, I hear you're a bit of a musician.
So, who is it?
I wish I could tell you.
If there was going to be someone else helped her with -
PHONE RINGS Excuse me a moment.
Laura Crawford.
It's not convenient right now.
Well, this isn't just any letter. It's Joan Alder to John Farrow.
It's dynamite.
Listen, I'll call you back.
Some of these new writers think their agent is their mother.
Now, where were we?
PAGER BEEPS
Mr Swinscoe?
Harvey?
I think the manuscript is a fake.
It most certainly is not a fake. You were as sure as I was.
Look, I've got a letter, a genuine letter
from Joan Alder to John Farrow.
A letter? But I don't see how.
The police have got the manuscript. If they see this letter...
No need to involve the police. We can sort this out -
I need to see you, Harvey, today.
No, no, I can't come today. I've arranged to see...
Tomorrow.
'First thing. I'll come round.'
Sorry, Mr Swinscoe, but I'm away.
I've got a couple of little jobs still to do,
but I'll be in tomorrow and sort 'em.
Yes, all right. Thanks.
Hello, it's me.
Listen...
CHEERING
Sorry, lads. Come on.
Let me. No, I have it. Please.
I feel like I'm on the outside, looking in.
I just wish I had something of her.
Nothing much.
Something she'd written perhaps.
Just something precious to her, you know.
I've changed my mind, all right?
Tell the world, why don't you?
The manuscript - Oh.
So you're selling that now instead.
No, of course not. How can I? The police have got it.
What do you know?
Nothing I can tell you.
Well, you're not playing cat and mouse with this one.
Goodbye, Swinscoe.
Better luck elsewhere.
Excuse me.
Here she comes.
It's Joan Alder's girl.
Possibly,
or possibly not,
by John Farrow.
Dad, shut up.
Does she know Michael Maybury, the man her mother married?
Has she met him yet?
Will she want to know if she knew what he'd done to her mother?
Come on, Dad. That'll do.
Well, everybody knows.
Well, he might get away with murder,
but he won't get away with stealing my wife.
Mr Swinscoe?
May I have a word?
Haven't you done enough?
Sorry?
What do you want?
I've changed my mind. I want to buy the letter back.
Oh, where are you going to get ã2,000 from? Sell your shack?
Ah, the prodigal returns.
Right.
That'll do for petrol.
I'll have the rest in my hand in the morning, or else.
Or else it won't be, and you'll just have to wait
like everybody else has to, until the job is finally done.
And when, you tell me, might that be?
You're a clever little bastard for a jumped up librarian, aren't you?
Dad! Dad! Dad! Just leave it! Come on! Come on!
Come on!
Bloody bookworm. He'd sell his soul for a dead woman's underwear.
He can't even pay his own debts.
(SLURS) Cheers.
(RETCHES)
Argh!
I haven't got it!
Arghh!
Charlie's going to make Peggy very happy.
She deserves it. She's been on her own for a long time.
What happened to her first husband?
He walked out. Joan must have been about 11.
He was head gardener at the hall.
Noah Farrow's place?
He went off with Noah Farrow's wife.
I don't know. What is it with your generation?
Not MY generation, thank you.
Anyway, if I don't take Peggy to collect this outfit,
there won't be a wedding.
MOBILE RINGS
Barnaby.
Right. Button missing. Coat ripped.
Even if he had been drinking, he didn't fall in by mistake
or deliberately throw himself into the river.
Do you think he was pushed? Quite possibly.
Only after quite a struggle.
Both wrists, hands grazed,
and fragments of limestone or similar in the nails.
As from a stone bridge. It could be.
Badgers Drift?
Quite possibly, yes.
If it was Badgers Drift,
could the body have made it this far downstream?
After the weather we've been having, yes.
OK. Thank you.
OK.
What turns a man so against his own son?
I think I found out this morning, Scott.
Joan Alder's father, apparently, took off with Noah Farrow's wife.
He was in the Badger's with Laura Crawford, sir.
Ordered these, either in the bar or the dining room.
If Bullard was right,
this is where someone heaved him over.
What do you think?
It's lovely. Beautiful.
Do you think Joan would have liked it if she'd been here?
I'm here, Mother, and I like it.
Yes.
Thank you.
He rang to offer me a love letter from Joan.
Did he really?
Not a love letter to me, Inspector.
To John Farrow.
By the time he got to the restaurant,
Swinscoe changed his mind.
Why?
Something had scared him.
He shifted the conversation to the manuscript.
Did he show you that letter?
No.
What if he'd found out,
by comparing Joan's writing in the letter to that in the manuscript,
that the whole thing was a fake?
There's no way.
That handwriting was Joan's.
Someone who'd forged it would say that, wouldn't they?
Arthur Leggott wanted John Farrow to have the manuscript.
Probably the original John Farrow-Joan Alder collaboration.
What if somebody stole that manuscript
from Arthur Leggott to copy it?
But why? Why go to all that trouble?
To take some credit, and stake a claim to Joan Alder's estate.
Well, it makes sense that Swinscoe thought he had a fake on his hands.
His own money up the creek.
If this is a forgery, all I can say is it's one hell of a good one.
And I didn't get Swinscoe drunk and push him in the river
because he'd found me out.
It'd be a good reason to kill him, though.
A very good reason...
..if this IS a forgery.
If the letter wasn't in Swinscoe's pocket, it must be here.
Coming in here, do you think?
I'll call on Harvey Crane later.
Get that letter found. Yes, sir.
I got hold of him, yes. And what happened then?
I got thrown out. Why?
And then?
Then I walked home.
Across the bridge? Better than getting your feet wet.
Did you lie in wait for Owen Swinscoe to tackle him on the bridge...
No. ..and then throw him into the river?
Been for a swim, has he?
No, Mr Smeeton. He is dead.
What?
Drowned. Dead?
I didn't see him after the set-to we had in the pub.
Oh, bugger it!
I'm not gonna get my money now, am I?
Well, he'd had a few before he left.
Whiskies... I come in a couple of times and he was -
Did you see him with a letter?
No. What letter?
Are you sure?
Yeah, of course I'm sure.
So, what was he doing?
Drinking. Oh, he made a phone call.
Private, mind, cos he shut the door on me.
You didn't hear what he said?
No. I was in the back room.
When I did come in, he was erm...
framing photos.
Photos?
No, that one.
Bingo.
Mr Barnaby.
A spring clean. You were in the Badger's last night.
You had a meal for which you paid in cash.
I sold a letter to Owen Swinscoe.
A love letter from Joan. Yes.
Is that what the conversation in the restaurant with Mr Swinscoe was about? I wanted to buy it back.
I didn't know how I was going to pay for it but...
You didn't catch up with Owen Swinscoe again, did you?
No. Why? What's he said?
How much did you get for your letter?
Please. It was ã200.
It didn't bother you to sell it?
Of course it did.
Until I met Sarah,
it was the one and only precious thing of Joan's I had.
Morning, Sarah. Morning.
And you didn't get the letter back? No. You're welcome to look.
Where have you been hiding it for the last 30 years?
What's all this about? Please, Sarah, give us a moment.
There we are.
Can you open it, please?
Oh.
I'd forgotten that.
May I?
El Paso, Texas. It's a marriage certificate.
So, with a marriage certificate,
he would have an equal claim along with Michael Maybury
to Joan Alder's estate. Yes, yes, he would.
Could that marriage certificate have been in Arthur Leggott's house?
No. That's been living 30 years in that tobacco tin.
What I think did go missing from Arthur Leggott's house
was a genuine manuscript and somebody meticulously copied that manuscript
to show the involvement of a hand other than John Farrow's.
Owen Swinscoe bought it,
but then Owen got hold of a genuine letter from Joan Alder
and something in that letter made him suspect the manuscript was a fake.
So the forger had to get hold of that letter
and if he couldn't, well...
Well, have to kill Owen Swinscoe,
just as he had to kill Arthur Leggott, yeah?
George. The love letter's genuine, Tom.
Is it? Joan's handwriting changed over the years
but not until after the trauma of losing John Farrow in the adoption.
And I've checked it against this.
Where did you get this? Alan Thorpe volunteered it.
Alan Thorpe? Apparently Joan's sister remembers her writing it.
I think it's what's known as a tease.
Now, what we have here is a very good attempt at copying her earlier writing.
But there are some letters formed
that are from the writing of a Joan Alder after she came back from South America.
So as this purports to have been written three years earlier,
we have ourselves a forgery.
And did the forger use genuine paper?
I mean, late '60s, early '70s manuscript paper?
Yep. Which could have been found at Arthur Leggott's house.
Well, thank you, George.
I'll leave them with you. It's worth the wait.
So the forger goes to Leggott's house to get the original manuscript in order to copy it.
Or having made the forgery, go round to plant it, and Leggott found them.
And the original's still out there somewhere.
As we find the forger, we find the killer. Thank you.
That call Owen Swinscoe made, sir. Harvey Crane?
That's right.
My mother was saying Michael Maybury had something to do with it.
Well, they never got on, did they? Him and Owen Swinscoe.
Oh, that's ridiculous. If she can put Joan's death at his door
because of some letter that Joan wrote
when she was so far gone she couldn't tell what day it was...
Well, that's something none of us will ever know.
What?
Well, was she mad when she wrote it or was she genuinely in danger?
We know you never liked him.
I don't like the fact he's lived off your sister all these years.
He's rich.
He's a successful author in his own right.
You never liked him because it was him that won Joan and not you.
I wanted her the way all us lads did.
Only I was fool enough to confess a teenage passion to the woman I married.
You don't tell the woman you married
how much you used to fancy her sister.
TYRES SCREECH
CAR HORN
Scott, are you all right?
"Dearest Mother..."
It was a photocopy of a letter from a supposed mad woman.
Michael Maybury was driving her to suicide.
According to this letter, that's what Joan believed.
Crane was on his way to find a buyer.
You think he got this from Lee Smeeton?
He's had access to Peggy's house for weeks.
Maybe he was the one who found it.
Is this gonna turn out to be another forgery, sir?
I'd say that's a strong possibility, wouldn't you?
Oi! Are you going somewhere?
Yep, my dad.
A mate's phoned to say they nearly knocked him over on the Parver Road.
We've just come from there. We didn't see your dad.
Well, look, he's had a few, all right?
What a surprise (!) Yeah, well.
What were you doing at Harvey Crane's house?
He gave me a tenner for some magazines I found.
Oh, and he was trying to fix a new lock on his back door
which he made a right pig's ear of, so I did that for him.
Which took me the best part of an hour. That's another tenner.
I did pretty well out of that. Where did you find the magazines?
I found them in the attic at the Joan Alder house. Why?
You leave Harvey Crane's house
and he goes off on his motorbike. Any connection?
No. Are you sure?
Course I'm sure.
I don't know where he went, all right?
He went...
up the Parver Road.
So what are you asking me for, then?
Go and find your dad, Lee.
Oi! Aye! Joe, no! No!
Joe!
Barnaby. Mr Maybury.
Can I have a word, please?
Yes, yes, of course. Come in. Thank you.
Hello, Mrs Smeeton.
Not Smeeton any more, Inspector.
No. Mr Maybury, I wonder if you'd mind looking at something for me.
This.
My glasses are in the...
If that is the letter received by Peggy Alder all those years ago...
Well, then I can see why she feels the way she does about me.
But if it's not genuine...
..then someone may have used letters actually written by Joan to make a realistic forgery.
Why do that?
To frame you, Mr Maybury.
I see.
I know what my late wife went through, Barnaby.
How many men she had. Trawling bars night after night
for five minutes of forgetting and I know what I went through trying to save her from herself.
So I don't give a damn what you or anybody else believes.
When did you last see Harvey Crane?
Last week when he came round with the manuscript.
Oh, yes. You gave him a black eye, didn't you?
Toad on the make. Is he where this came from?
And you haven't seen him since? I'm surprised I haven't.
This would be worth a try at blackmail.
And you haven't heard from him today?
There was a phone call but the caller hung up - twice.
Well, did you try 1471?
I'm sorry, I thought it was Joe again.
"Hello. Harvey Crane is unable to take your call at the moment."
"Please leave a message."
(SIGHS) So he was about to offer it to me.
Have you been in the house all evening?
Since we came back from court this afternoon, yes.
Why? What's happened now?
Harvey Crane was murdered this evening.
Banned from the driving cab.
Banned from The Badger's.
Joe, stay away from the rectory.
The only person you're gonna damage is yourself.
Dad. Ta, son.
See you, Joe.
Take a bath. Oi! Parver Road was closed off.
What's all that about?
You told me that's where Harvey Crane went. What's happened?
There was a road accident.
Lee was there for an hour, which gives Harvey Crane time
to find the letter in the magazines and make a few calls.
He tried Maybury first. A bit of blackmail.
Whoever planted it knew he'd do that
and they were waiting on the road to the old rectory.
But why kill him? Because he knew about the forgery of the manuscript.
Rang up to ask for his money back.
So our killer thinks he can frame Michael Maybury twice over.
Firstly for murdering Joan Alder 20 years ago,
then for killing Harvey Crane
who's supposedly got evidence that Joan was murdered.
Which would leave the way clear for them to claim co-authorship
of the Midsomer Rhapsody and a share in all those royalties, eh?
Miss Crawford, can I have a word, please?
It's rather late.
May we come in?
Do you have to? No, you can come out if you like
and we can go for a ride.
Come in, Inspector.
Sarah.
Inspector Barnaby.
May I ask, as a point of interest:
are you now with the Laura Crawford Agency?
Of course she isn't.
That may change, however...
Depending on how much she's worth, right?
Oh, please (!) Depending whether or not I lay claim
to what I am apparently entitled.
I don't want to cause any trouble.
No trouble to me, my dear.
But... Michael Maybury.
Who else? You still say he was responsible for his wife's death?
Yes, I do, in black and white, actually.
Since we last talked,
a letter has surfaced which puts the matter beyond doubt.
Have you seen that letter? Or was it just read to you over the phone?
Have you had any contact with Harvey Crane today?
No.
He...called me around seven.
And? OK.
He did read me a letter. Have you been out this evening?
No, I've been in all day. Can you vouch for that, Sarah?
Yes. I've been here since about six.
Was this the letter that was read to you?
It looks like it.
Look, what's this about? You claim you were Joan Alder's lover?
Are you also hoping you're going to claim part ownership of the Rhapsody royalties?
Me? You think I did all this?
Miss Crawford, I am investigating three murders.
And I'm asking you...
..don't leave the village.
And a word of advice to you, Sarah,
about Michael Maybury.
You make your own mind up.
How dare you!
Have they not RSVP'd? No, Mother.
Well, what are we supposed to assume then? They're not coming?
I suppose so.
Well, you can't assume that. You have to get in touch.
Don't you think I've got enough to do?
Can I make a suggestion?
I'm sure Joyce would be more than pleased to help out.
It's Melody's job.
Well, it will be one less job to worry about, won't it?
It will be done.
Er, Peggy.
I'm sorry but erm...
You read it.
Is that the letter Joan wrote to you from hospital? Yes.
But you said you burnt it.
Well, I can't have, can I, if it's here?
It could be a fake. Fake?
What on earth for?
It seems to prove that what you've been saying for years is true
and could cause a lot of trouble for Michael Maybury.
Well, if it is a fake, there's plenty that's heard the contents as many times as I have.
All I know is I remember screwing it up and throwing it in the flames.
Screwing it up?
Yes.
Thank you, Peggy.
I know you've a job to do but she's been a bit highly strung of late.
I don't want her to make herself ill over it all before the wedding.
Well, I'm being as delicate as I can be in the circumstances, Charlie.
What's she told you about Michael Maybury?
Oh, quite enough. He had the cheek to get somebody to phone here
to ask for the wedding present list.
Oh. That sounds like a really bad man, doesn't it, eh, Charlie?
Peggy needed someone to blame.
Michael Maybury was the obvious target,
and once she started, she couldn't back off.
I think she needs your help here, Charlie.
Help her face up to this one.
Michael...erm...someone to see you.
Sarah Douglas. Joan's daughter.
Sarah.
Oh, this is wonderful.
Thank you...
You do have her eyes.
You really do.
I'm so glad that you wanted to come and see me.
Oh, well, I've heard a lot about you.
I wanted to see for myself.
So, Harvey Crane gets hold of a letter which implicates Michael Maybury in his wife Joan's death.
Now, our forger knows that Harvey's gonna try and blackmail Maybury with it.
So he gets himself near to Maybury's place...
waits till he hears Harvey's motorbike and then...
does a Steve McQueen across the road with the wire.
And hopes we'll think it's Maybury, which we don't.
No, we don't. PHONE RINGS
Barnaby.
Oh, thank you.
We are summoned.
So who told you that I didn't help my son?
Peggy Alder? Did her daughter tell her when she came back?
How did she know?
Did the people who were holding him,
did they tell her after they killed him that I didn't help?
What else could it be?
And does it matter?
Why? Does everyone know?
No, everyone else does not know, Mr Farrow. What you did is safe with me.
So, who...
And one other.
Who?
He didn't die, Mr Farrow.
J... John?
In fact, he's been living within five miles of you for the last 15 years.
He's alive.
My son is alive.
He won't see you.
No, of course not.
Have you...
Have you any idea of the love you tried to deny him?
But you didn't deny them everything, Mr Farrow.
You have a granddaughter too.
No-one would recognise Hedge. I hope not.
Now, how do I look? You look wonderful.
Thank you.
John, I beg of you, a moment of your time.
We have to be somewhere.
Yes, of course.
I thought you were dead by my hand.
I don't know how a father could do such a thing.
An evil, bitter man.
It's a weight, John, I wouldn't ask you to lift.
So what do you want?
You know who this is?
Yes.
You don't get to cripple this generation too. Please.
He's not here to hurt anyone.
I just wanted to see you.
My wife had to give away our daughter.
Wife?
I loved her.
Yes, and I know now how much she loved you.
You might like to have that.
Thank you.
We have to go.
A wedding. Yes, of course.
I think...it would be lovely if we arrived in your car.
Have I got time to mow the lawn?
Do you like it? Oh, it's stunning.
Worth every penny.
When your turn comes, Cully... Dad.
..I don't suppose there's any chance of low key. No, there isn't.
Did you manage to get hold of everyone?
Yeah.
Erm...
I'm afraid I'm gonna have to go out for a while.
Dad? Tom?
I'll see you at the church.
Dad, you can't. Tom!
George. What have we got?
Take a look at this. Look at the paper.
It's the same.
Yeah. But you said this is 35 years old.
It is.
The real thing lifted from Arthur Leggott to do the deed.
Who wrote the wedding list? Melody Thorpe wrote that.
She wouldn't make that mistake. No, she's not our forger.
She used what she thought was just another piece of paper.
BELLS RING
CAR HORN
DOORBELL
I think he's already at the wedding, sir. Round the back.
Thank you.
MOBILE PHONE RINGS
Turn it off. Hello.
Yes.
What?
Right. Thank you.
We're being burgled. What?
No, you can't.
Scott?
This is it.
This is the centre of operation.
The original manuscript of Midsomer Rhapsody by Joan Alder
with additional material by John Farrow.
I pronounce that they be man and wife together
in the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Ghost.
Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.
(You may kiss the bride.)
JAUNTY ORGAN MUSIC
DOOR OPENS
DOOR CLOSES
What the hell's going on?
Alan Thorpe, I'm arresting you for the murders of Arthur Leggott,
Owen Swinscoe and Harvey Crane.
I think we're both gonna be very happy with the family we've got.
Hers not mine. Mine are all scoundrels!
Still serving at Her Majesty's.
No, no, no, no. Not really. Not really.
None of them left.
Yesterday, I was on my own.
And today, I've a wonderful wife,
and a step-daughter... and now a granddaughter too.
What more could a man want?
Well, just for you to all have a lovely day.
Enjoy yourselves. I will.
You took this original manuscript
from a box file your wife had brought home to give to Arthur Leggott.
And you went to Arthur Leggott's house
and you took some old, unused manuscript paper
and you set to work rewriting the Joan Alder story
to your own advantage.
Even created a complete set of notes to accompany the manuscript,
written in what you thought was Joan's old hand,
using this Valentine's card she once sent you as a...
as a joke, to copy the handwriting.
You don't know what you're talking about.
What you didn't know was that Arthur Leggott knew who Hedge was
long before any of us did,
and you didn't know that it was Arthur's wish to give that manuscript to John Farrow.
Why would I go back to his house?
To place it where you knew it would be taken for auction,
and you certainly didn't expect him to turn up at his home
in the middle of the night.
Having killed Arthur Leggott,
you couldn't leave the forgery on the premises, could you?
In case we were to remove it before the auction.
So, you took it with you, didn't you?
After you'd ransacked the place
to make it look like the work of an opportunistic burglar.
So you waited at the auction to see who was going to buy up the box files.
You saw your chance and you slipped in the manuscript.
So there it was waiting for Harvey Crane to take the bait.
Which he did. He sold it to your colleague, Owen Swinscoe.
Ladies and gentleman... It is with the greatest...
What you didn't foresee
was that Laura Crawford would unveil Joan Alder's daughter Sarah
and that that would lead to John Farrow revealing his identity.
And you couldn't have foreseen, could you,
that John Farrow would sell the love letter from Joan
so he could afford to take his daughter out to dinner?
But if Owen Swinscoe were ever to compare that letter with the manuscript,
you knew he'd realise it was a fake,
and he did.
Do you think they're married by now? Or don't you care?
This Valentine card you so helpfully provided
to assist in the authentication of the manuscript
didn't contain ALL the letters of the alphabet, did it?
Some of them were missing, like the letter F,
and the letter G, and you guessed how they were formed
and you guessed wrong, and you knew that
the minute you saw the love letter,
and you knew something had to be done.
So you waited for Owen Swinscoe outside the Badger's.
You watched him leave, walk across the road, walk towards the bridge.
You bloody fool. Give me the letter.
I haven't got it!
You have a lot in common with popular music, Inspector.
Crude and repetitive.
I should be somewhere listening to a masterpiece.
You killed Arthur Leggott.
And then you killed Owen Swinscoe,
and then you realised Harvey Crane knew too much.
And you saw your chance to lure him
to Maybury's house by creating another letter.
One which cast suspicion onto Maybury.
You knew Harvey Crane couldn't resist a bit of blackmail
and you knew the first place he'd go was the old rectory.
MOTORBIKE ENGINE
We were only a few feet away from you at that moment.
You hated Michael Maybury, didn't you?
Not because you thought he was responsible for Joan's death
but because SHE chose HIM over you.
You were infatuated by her, weren't you?
I don't, er...
..expect you to understand, Inspector,
but I was the love of Joan's life.
Even at school.
You can quibble about your Fs and your Gs,
but it was I who inspired her,
collaborated with her on Rhapsody.
I was the music student who didn't get into college.
I wasn't quite... bohemian enough for them.
But by the time John Farrow took her off to South America
and got her into drugs, our best work was done.
This proves it.
When she came back, with child,
she was already sick and men like Maybury preyed on her vulnerability.
The best days of Joan Alder's life...were with me.
Well, you and I agree on one thing, Mr Thorpe:
I, too, would much prefer to be listening to Joan's music.
Find him a cell, Scott.
And when he can make a sensible statement...
charge him. Yes, sir.
♪ Midsomer Rhapsody
Itfc Subtitles T CASHMORE, S SUTTON & M PAYNE