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Mrs Redfern? Yes.
How nice to meet you.
You mean you're Martin Barrett. Yes.
I think we both expected someone a little different.
The only thing that puzzles me is, out of the nine girls who were there,
why choose me?
Well, research.
The key to any successful enterprise.
You've been poking your nose into my business.
Well, I suppose that's one way of putting it.
And what did your research tell you?
That for the most part, those girls were pretty insipid.
Then your name came up.
A bit of an unknown quantity.
Independent ways.
Wayward, you mean.
♪ BIZET: The Pearl Fishers
OPERA CONTINUES
♪ PEARL FISHER'S DUET
Who is that?
DUET CLIMAXES
HIGH-FREQUENCY HUM
BEEPING
Morning, sir. Morning.
One blast through the window
and good night Martin William Barrett, aged 43.
Who reported it? Anonymous male, sir.
He rang the station at six this morning from the box on the corner.
Hello, George. I thought you were supposed to be in France.
But for his nibs here, we would have been.
People are funny, aren't they?
He shot the poor devil to kingdom come from outside,
and then put the window back on the catch. Funny, George?
Cool, calm and bloody terrifying.
Ready to sign him off, Doctor Bullard?
What else? Oh...
Er...
He was a widower, worked for the council.
Had very few friends and didn't go out much.
All according to the milkman.
He would know, would he? Not as much as he thinks.
Barrett had a houseguest last night.
He left in a hurry. SHE left in a hurry.
There's makeup on these tissues in the bin.
Tony... Couldn't have been the girlfriend, though,
or she wouldn't be in the spare room.
Mother? Daughter?
Sister?
Why does this place make me feel uncomfortable, sir?
Oh, a sensitive lad like you, it must be the body in the kitchen.
I can handle that, sir.
Maybe it's his taste in music.
Mario Lanza's very good.
I think it's the pathological neatness of this place.
There's no clutter, there's no unanswered letters.
No silly ornaments. Nothing out of place.
Not even a mark on his blotter.
Yeah, well, who writes letters these days, sir?
Who knows how to?
George, what time do you think he was shot?
Say midnight for now. More when I've pulled him apart.
Is it all right to take him back to the office? Yes.
Right. OK.
Right, off you go, Peter. Mind your back, Tom.
Our board at home is absolutely covered with stuff.
Messages, telephone numbers, lists.
Hundreds of years old, some of them.
But Martin Barrett has but one solitary item.
Does that make it significant?
Or just lonely?
What is it? It is a page from an auction catalogue.
And, since we have to start somewhere...
Then there's lot 387,
Love Beneath The Lilacs, oil on canvas, William Graveney, 1879.
Oh, well, it's a young chap getting to know a young lady rather well.
Oh, you did?
You don't happen to have the name and address of the vendor, do you?
Oh, you're an absolute star. Thank you.
It's the painting. It was sold by the man who runs The Plough
down at Cadstone Ridge.
That's a five-minute walk from here.
Er, Jones,
five-minute walk?
CAR-LOCKING BEEPS
Good morning, gentlemen. Good morning.
Mr Fothergill? Yeah.
I'm Detective Chief Inspector -
Cough up, Ted!
Ha-ha!
I said to him, how long before the police descend on me? This being Gossip Central.
Less than a day, I said. And what did Ted say?
A month, at least.
Cos you can never find one of your fellas when you want one!
(CHUCKLES)
Well, poor old Martin, eh? Reg the milkman told us.
He's a mine of information, that man, isn't he?
However, why do you suppose,
that this was pinned up on Martin Barrett's kitchen wall?
Did he intend to buy it, do you think?
He might have done, I suppose. Yes, perhaps he did.
But we're right in thinking it was yours to sell?
My father's. He passed away last November.
Yeah, the young lady in the picture was too skinny for my taste so I got rid of it.
Can you tell us about Martin Barrett, please?
Did people like him? Loathe him? Not give a damn?
He was generally well liked.
Sophisticated man. Good conversationalist.
That's the young lady to speak to. She used to clean for him.
Ruby, could you spare a moment?
Ruby Wilmott, this is Detec- Coppers? About Martin?
You ready?
Martin Barrett was a mean, vicious, ugly sod,
and I'm glad he karked it.
Come on, Ruby, a spot of Christian charity, surely! Why, is it Sunday?
I'm sensing a difference of opinion here.
"Intelligent and sophisticated"?
"Mean", and spiteful?
Villages, Inspector. One man's friend is another man's enemy.
Or in Martin Barrett's case, his murderer.
When did you last see him, Mrs Wilmott? Yesterday morning.
Did he ask you to make up a bed in the spare room?
I was his cleaner, not his wife.
Excuse me, I've got work to do.
Coffee, gentlemen? Something stronger?
Thank you, but no, thank you. We also have work to do. Thank you.
So, was Martin Barrett good, bad or just plain ugly?
All three, according to them.
This girl in the spare room. Why didn't she report the murder?
The simple answer would be that she played a part in it.
Track her down, would you? Garages, railway stations, taxi firms.
And get onto my new friend at the auction house, would you?
Ask her if Martin Barrett actually made a bid
for this Love Beneath The Lilacs.
Hm? Mm.
Ruby, dear!
When the police start asking questions,
the trick is to close doors on them,
not to give them reasons to go digging deeper.
I told them the truth. I hated Martin Barrett.
So did you, come to that.
Thank you, Mr Jocelyn, thanks very much.
No, no, don't do that, I'll call in for it.
Family all well?
Good. Bye.
You wanted to know about Barrett's job, sir.
He was a wages clerk at the council. It doesn't come any greyer.
Grey? The man was invisible.
I can't find anything about him pre-1991 and precious little since.
Lived abroad? Changed his name, perhaps.
I've also spoken to your lady friend at the auction house.
Her name's Clara, by the way. Yes, she said.
Barrett didn't try to buy Love Beneath The Lilacs.
Ah, Jack Fothergill's father, God rest his soul,
I've asked his solicitor for a copy of the probate. Come with me.
Oh, if I may, sir... What?
This is an ESDA print-out of the impressions on Barrett's blotter.
Yes, and...?
There's a couple of letters,
and just down here in the corner is a local phone number.
It's very recent, the girl at the lab said.
Have you called it? No.
Well, do.
Wendy, could you get onto Bull Lane Garage?
Ask them if they'll strip down Barrett's car for us.
RINGING TONE Ask for Andy.
'Hi, you're through to Rick and Maggie Florian.
We can't take your call at the moment
but leave your name and number and we'll buzz you back. Ciao!'
Ciao (!)
Ciao, Jones.
Get an address for that number, will you?
If it's on our way, we'll call in, have a word.
Good morning, sir. Are you Mr Florian?
I am, indeed.
We are from Causton CID. I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby
and this is DC Jones.
I'm sorry to tell you this, but there's been a murder in the village.
Oh, Martin Barrett, yeah, yeah. We heard about it earlier.
From Reg the milkman, do doubt.
Yeah.
How did you...? This is uncanny, isn't it, though?
Martin Barrett - why would he make a note of your telephone number?
Has he been in touch lately?
Well, not that I recall.
Ahm... I'd better dig up the phone records, sir.
Jog Mr Florian's memory. Hang on, you're right, he did phone.
On... On...Tuesday morning, yeah, my wife took the call.
Perhaps we could speak to her. Ah, no.
I'm afraid she's still in bed. Bit of a heavy weekend.
No, all he...all he wanted to know, apparently,
was the name of our builder. I'm not surprised.
He's made a lovely job of that, hasn't he?
Tell us about the heavy weekend, sir.
Well, we keep a boat down at Fennacombe Bay.
That's not the problem. It's the clubhouse after a day's sailing.
Where were you last night around midnight?
Ahm... Well, just got back from Fennacombe.
So, cup of tea, hit the sack.
What's your line of business, Mr Florian?
I work in oil.
What, do you paint in it or drill for it?
The latter.
Do you want to see? Well, erm, yes.
Thank you.
Well, thank you, Mr Florian, thank you very much.
Give my regards to your wife.
Thanks, I will.
Ciao (!)
You do enjoy flirting with danger, don't you, Ricky? What?
The tarpaulin.
Maybe we should give next weekend a miss. No, on the contrary,
the sooner we finish there, the better.
SHOP BELL RINGS
BELL TOLLING
Old man Fothergill's probate.
Now, tell me what you see.
Or rather, do not see.
Not much to it. (SPLUTTERS)
Aha! Aha-ha.
I don't believe it!
Oh, hello again, Inspector.
Sorry, I didn't catch your name this morning.
No, you didn't, did you?
Too busy collecting your winnings from Ted.
Fancy us turning up twice in one day, eh, Ted?
Just so long as we get the protection that we pay for.
This is DC Jones, by the way. My name is Barnaby, Tom Barnaby,
and we'd like a little chat with you in private, please, if we may.
Ooh, don't worry, I have no secrets from Ruby.
Do you mind, Ted?
Can't even have a quiet drink without somebody interrupting.
Should we take a seat?
Thank you.
Sit yourselves down, gentlemen.
I'd offer you something to drink but I'm sure you're on duty.
Mr Fothergill,
Love Beneath The Lilacs.
How much did you sell it for? Well, I'm not altogether -
ã97,000.
Too much for Martin Barrett, I'd imagine.
Which means that he didn't want to buy it, as you allowed us to believe.
He just wanted to know its value.
But why on earth would I - I do like a man who won't be beaten!
Don't you, Jones? Hm!
Here's the probate of your father's will.
No mention of a painting.
Is that because it would have taken you over the zero threshold in terms of death duty?
Yes, I suppose it would, yeah.
Mr Fothergill, you have deprived the Chancellor Of The Exchequer of his 40%.
Oh, don't worry, I'm not interested in that. That's between you and him.
Then why are you here?
Did Barrett ask you for money to keep quiet about it?
Well, I wouldn't put it quite as - Yes!
Yes.
ã5,000 seemed a better deal than 40% to the taxman.
Only it didn't stop at five. The other day he asked for more,
in that way of his, where you're not actually sure that he's asked you
but once he's gone you're left in absolutely no doubt that he has.
I need a bit of top-up, Jack.
Well, go and ask Ruby, she's minding the bar.
I wasn't talking about the drink.
That's the trouble with paying Danegeld, isn't it?
You never get rid of the Dane. Unless, of course, you murder him.
Well, I didn't do that, I promise you.
Tell me where you were last night,
round about midnight.
I was on my way to bed.
We had a quiet night here.
When did your last customer leave? About half-eleven.
It was Ted, as usual.
Can you think of anyone else he might have been leaning on, Mr Fothergill?
What, you mean Jack wasn't the only one?
Oh, I doubt it, Mrs Wilmott. People like that
usually have several victims, and in Martin Barrett's case,
I imagine one of them killed him.
Afternoon, Tom.
George.
The report's done, being typed up as we speak,
and I can tell you something about his murderer.
Oh, make it his name and address, will you?
I dug three different sizes of shot from the body, and that means...?
That means that whoever killed him, made up their own cartridges.
Yes, and I think the pellets were homemade, too.
You can get shot made for next to nothing on the internet.
But who would go to those great lengths, George?
Poachers, gamekeepers, farmers... MOBILE PHONE RINGS
Barnaby. Jones.
Oh, good. I'll be with you in five minutes.
Thank you, George, and good work.
Eh, shouldn't you be in France?
Next week now.
Jones?
Ah, sir.
You're going to like this. Am I?
Barrett's car. This had fallen down between the windscreen and the dashboard.
Receipt from Squids In.
"To Mrs Florian. Fish, two kilos."
The address is on the bottom.
Oh, yeah.
The Harbour, Fennacombe Bay.
Where the Florians keep their boat,
and here's proof that Barrett went after them, I'd say.
The route to Fennacombe is highlighted. You're right, Jones.
I do like it. Going to get cleaned up, are you?
Yeah.
And pick the bones out of this.
Whatever Barrett had on his victims,
only he and they knew about it, right? Right.
If it had been common knowledge,
Barrett wouldn't have been able to use it.
And the only people who can tell us what he knew about them
are the victims themselves. No point in asking them.
They won't say anything. Precisely.
So, whatever it was they were up to,
goes to the grave with Barrett.
Do we need to know what they were up to? I think we do, Jones,
because whoever stood to lose the most, probably killed him.
And since we can't confront the Florians head on,
I think one of us should go down to Fennacombe Bay
and find out what they were doing down there. Sounds good, sir.
A trip to the seaside.
Shall we toss for it?
Oh, I already did. I won.
Right, sir.
There's still plenty to do, Jones.
I mean, not just finding the girl but also whoever reported the crime.
Why were they hanging around Barrett's house at six in the morning?
Plenty to do, plenty to do.
Whoa!
I thought you liked honey balsamic dressing. I do, very much,
but not to swim in.
Talking of which, early rise tomorrow.
We're off to the seaside. Ooh!
MOBILE PHONE RINGS
Hi, Jones. Sir, I think I may have found us another victim,
and we're going up in the world. Sir John Waverley.
Waverley?! He's on the Police Committee.
'That's why I'm phoning you. Reg the milkman saw Barrett
driving away from his farm, crack of dawn last Friday.'
Oh, Reg again, eh?
Maybe I should have gone to the coast while you stayed here.
'Oh, no, Jones, I've absolute confidence in you.'
You go and talk to him.
But go gently, he lost his wife a couple of months ago.
Right, sir.
(GASPS)
You can't beat it, can you, eh?
The first glimpse of the sea.
Where?
Well, I'm glad I brought my cardigan.
Did you know the Bullards bought a house in France?
Did I know?! Kath talks of nothing else these days.
So, what is this rush towards foreign climes, eh?
Cos I don't understand it.
What is wrong with England, eh?
(SIGHS)
What did Jones want?
Thank you.
Jones thinks he's found another of Barrett's victims.
John Waverley.
Sir John?!
He's not the sort to have a skeleton in the cupboard.
If it's about anything, it will be about
that refuge he used to run for disaffected teenagers.
They were all girls, weren't they?
And one or two of them were rather difficult.
Cully had a friend there.
What was her name?
GRID RATTLES
PC Jones? Yes, sir.
Morning. Good morning, sir.
Mr Barnaby sends his apologies, sir. Life-and-death call to the coast.
Come on through, Jones. Coffee's on the go.
It's at times like these that I realise what a good officer my DCI is.
He puts people at their ease straightaway.
And you don't? Ah, well, I try to, certainly,
but when it's a matter of tricky questions...
You follow his example, Jones, you won't go far wrong.
Fire away. Right, sir, I will.
What was Martin Barrett blackmailing you about?
We think he had a sideline in extortion, you see,
and I'd like to know if he had anything on you.
You're upsetting me, DC Jones.
Is it by accident or design, I wonder?
I don't suppose Martin Barrett and I
have exchanged ten words since he came to the village.
But he came here on Friday morning, sir, at six o'clock.
Well, it could have been for any number of reasons.
To see one of my staff, buy some eggs.
All the way here to buy eggs at six in the morning?!
We operate an on-trust system for locals.
They take what they want and leave the money.
You haven't answered my question, sir. Which was?
Was Martin Barrett blackmailing you? Certainly not!
KNOCKING Guv'nor, time's pressing.
OK, Billy. It's my farm manager. We have a FABL inspection today.
I must go. No problem, sir, I can call back.
No. If you have any further questions, I suggest
you ask DCI Barnaby to ring and make an appointment.
MOOING
Good morning, Mrs Wilmott.
Yeah? Nothing, just good morning.
Oh.
Ah, Joyce, the chap I want to see is down there, I think.
So, can we meet back here in about half an hour? Sounds good.
See you next week.
How can I help, sir? Good morning.
I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby from Causton CID.
I wonder, when you've finished here, could we have a word?
You can have it now. Peter Hatchard.
How do you do?
Carol, can you take over, love?
Yeah, sure.
Won't be long. OK.
I wouldn't say I'm a friend of Richard and Maggie's
but I see them at the sailing club.
Seems like a nice enough bloke.
Life and soul of the party. What about her?
Oh, well, she takes things a bit easier, I think.
I understand they've got a property down here.
Oh, yes, yes, on the other side of the headland.
Oh, how nice.
Er, this is a photograph of Martin Barrett.
He's the victim in a murder investigation I'm leading.
Have you ever seen that man around Fennacombe?
No, can't help you, I'm afraid. Ah.
Mind you, I wouldn't say Richard Florian's your man.
Oh, you wouldn't (?)
I should declare an interest.
I was in the Hong Kong Police for seven years.
'80-'87. Were you?
Well, good, I can get your professional opinion on this, can't I?
Why do you think the Florians come down here, then?
I don't think it's just for the fishing, is it?
But whatever it is, I think that Martin Barrett found out about it.
You know, just before Christmas, in the middle of the night,
we were called out to the Florians.
"We" being the Fennacombe lifeboat.
Their engine had caught fire.
I thought it a bit odd at the time that they hadn't called us themselves.
Left it up to some trawler. Up to something, were they?
It didn't seem so at the time, but now you've got me thinking.
Ah, is that your good lady?
Yes, it is.
Look, we're just about to go home.
Join us for lunch and then I'll drop you over to the Florians.
That's kind. Can you spare the time?
Time is one thing we've got plenty of round here.
Never fails, does it, eh?
Drive round the corner, see the sea and - hoo! -
ten years old again.
Come October, November, you'll wish you were somewhere else. South of France, maybe.
Come on, Tom, come with me.
Joyce, let's send these two off wherever it is they are going,
and we'll fix lunch.
Here we are. This is where the Florians stay when they're down.
How much would a place like this would go for, Peter?
200, maybe. Phew!
Not that they own it. I know that. I'm just curious.
Anything? Come and look for yourself.
Just basics.
A place to bed down in, nothing much else.
Is that their boat?
Yes.
Maybe that will have more to say for itself.
How do we get out to it?
FOTHERGILL: Had a good walk, did you? Yes, thanks.
Oh!
Who's left all this stuff in here?
Argh!
Jack! Jack!
Tell him someone!
Tell him I want him!
We'll have a little look round. Come on. Yeah.
All aboard!
Is this what I think it is?
Well, it rather depends on - Jack, no jokes!
Did you kill him? How could you possibly -
You shouldn't wave guns around, even if they're not loaded.
You said you hated him! Enough to murder him?
Listen, if we're comparing notes on Martin Barrett, what was it you said?
He was "Mean, spiteful and ugly" and you wish he'd "Karked it".
Shouldn't I worry that you did it? Why should I?
Well, if you don't know - No, come on, why?
SIREN WAILING
Anything? Nothing.
Nothing at all.
Whatever it is they are up to,
they're very careful to tidy up after themselves, aren't they?
Unless you're on the wrong track, of course. Who, me?
It does happen, you know.
Never (!)
Mind your backs, please.
It went off.
A Purdy, no less.
Yours, Mr Fothergill? Yes, yes. Family heirloom.
I don't remember seeing it on the probate.
Got a licence for it?
Do I need one?
Yes or no, Mr Fothergill?
No, he hasn't.
My, my, the charges are mounting up, aren't they?
Well, why don't I take this with me,
see if I can add murder to the list?
SOLO PIANO MUSIC ON STEREO
DOORBELL RINGS
DOGS BARKING
Come on, come on in.
READS: Martin Barrett is dead but nothing else has changed.
Wait for instructions.
Morning, Mrs Barnaby. Morning.
Good day at the coast? Blustery!
We've all gone soft in this country.
All central heating and too many package holidays.
That shooting at The Plough, what was all that about?
Jack Fothergill's Purdy went off.
Ruby found it in a cupboard, they argued about why he had it.
She slammed it down on the floor, bang!
They argued?
The truth is, and I'm using the word experimentally in their case,
each thinks the other may have killed Martin Barrett.
Has the gun gone to the lab? Yeah, along with a box of cartridges.
So, any progress with the Florians?
Ah... It's marginal.
Joyce, love.
In the bin on your way out, please.
Chief Inspector!
How did you get on with John Waverley?
How well do you know him, sir? He's one of us, Jones, one of us.
I know he's chairman of the Police Committee - No, I didn't mean that.
I mean, if you tap him, he rings true.
So, whatever Barrett thought he'd dug up against him,
don't waste any time on it.
Well, no, but I think I should follow it up.
Not at the expense of other things.
With respect, sir, the man was stonewalling me.
He came up with a dodgy reason why Barrett went there at six in the morning.
CAR UNLOCKING And?
You do know the farm was a refuge for teenage girls at one stage?
Yes, of course I do, and I also have very good reason to believe
that the girls who found themselves in the care of John and Jean Waverley
were very fortunate to have done so. OK, sir, I'll take your advice,
I'll back off.
No, no, don't do that.
I might be right on most things, but...
..you can never tell.
PHONE RINGING
Barnaby. 'Tom, it's Peter Hatchard.'
Peter. I hope you don't mind me phoning,
but I thought you should know -
the Florians are here and it's midweek,
so they're breaking a long-established pattern.
What are they doing? They're sailing towards Fuller's Sweep.
It's a reef that emerges at low tide.
I could follow them on some pretext, I suppose, but -
No, don't do that. But thanks for the call, I do appreciate it.
OK. Let me know if there's anything else I can do. 'Thanks, Pete.'
Try and find out when that is. Jones.
What are you doing?
Did you know Sir John Waverley is in line to be High Sheriff of Midsomer?
Yes, I did know. I'd say that makes him a bit vulnerable, wouldn't you?
Vulnerable, yes, but not necessarily guilty.
Grab your coat, come with me.
The Florians are out of town. Hurry!
(OK.)
QUACKING
That's Ruby Wilmott's, sir.
Save you breaking in.
VACUUM CLEANER FROM WITHIN
By God, you're a hard worker, Ruby.
How many people do you clean for?
Well, I do my fair...
Just a sec, where's he going? VACUUM CLEANER OFF
I've got some very important news about Jack's gun.
What? The news is, there is no news.
But as soon as I hear anything, I'll be over to share it with you.
Meantime, if coffee was offered, we'd both love a cup.
VACUUM CLEANER ON
What are we actually looking for, sir?
The reason why the Florians went down to Fennacombe Bay so often.
And why Martin Barrett followed them there.
Depth charts,
maps of Fennacombe Bay.
All property of Greenbase Oil.
Well, they were both on the firm's exploration team.
He's a geologist, she's a marine biologist.
Oil, sir? Hm.
Given that oil is big money, does it figure in this?
I mean, is there oil under Fennacombe Bay, possibly?
Oh, I don't think so, do you, Jones?
I mean, you need heavy equipment for oil prospecting.
Not the kind of stuff of you can get on board a 38-foot catamaran.
So, we're back to illegal entry, smuggling or drugs.
Hm.
Did you check up on Richard Florian's credentials?
Well, that's what I was going to do before you...
What were you doing all day yesterday?
You'd better do it now.
Mm.
KEYBOARD TAPPING
BEEP
Ah, your friend Hatchard, sir.
He's not my friend, he's an acquaintance
and a highly-commended police officer.
Queen's Police Medal, no less!
Greenbase Oil. It's a Japanese-owned company,
but Florian doesn't work for them any more.
They fired him three months ago.
The word is, he engineered his own sacking.
Picked a fight in the boardroom,
and I mean bare-knuckle.
He's a man with a temper, then.
Got a golden handshake. Used it to set up on his own, they reckon.
Doing what, though?
LAUGHTER
Dad, just in time to buy another round.
I knew I'd come in useful one day.
Ah, young lady! What would you all like to drink?
A white wine spritzer... Er, whatever, whatever.
Cully, could I...?
Are you doing anything this evening? I wasn't, but I bet I am now.
It's just that I have a little problem I need your help with.
That old school friend of yours who was staying up at Waverley Farm.
Hayley something? Hayley Simpson.
I saw her a couple of months ago.
Good, that means you can still get hold of her, yeah? Yeah.
It's just I need her to vouch for John Waverley.
I mean, we all believe he's a decent man, but... But you're not sure.
Yes, I am, but I want to hear it from someone who knows.
OK.
Do you think you could invite her round for supper this evening?
I'm doing the cooking.
Come on in, Ben. It's really nice that you could come.
Damn it. Left my camera at home.
Honestly, Tom. I'd have done it willingly. You only had to ask.
We'll have a glass of that now. Cully, open up.
What is it, sir?
This, Jones, is lapin a la sauvage.
It's rabbit done French-style.
Pete Hatchard's wife gave Joyce two t'other day.
Well, I only hope that Hayley Simpson isn't a fussy eater.
DOORBELL
I'll go.
Dad, put those vegetables on, will you?
Yes, yes, yes.
We've never had rabbit in our house, sir.
Never had rabbit?
Prepare yourself for a treat.
HAYLEY: You look marvellous, Mrs Barnaby.
Glasses? On the board.
I shall have to call you Ms Simpson.
Dad, say hello to Hayley.
Hayley, welcome.
Welcome.
(ECHOES) Better call me Tom.
And this is Ben Jones, my DC.
It's so lovely to see you all and to meet you again.
You know, you lot really haven't changed.
What? Even Dad? Oi!
I think it's rather dry.
Oh!
But if you're all happy with it...
It's delicious, Tom.
Thank you.
We often used to have this at the farm.
Sir John was always taking pot shots at rabbits.
Actually, it was John Waverley
that we wanted to...
Yes, that you wanted to ask me about. Cully said.
Well, for one reason and another, which I don't want to go into,
we need to find out what sort of man he was.
I've known him for years, and I think a straighter man you could not wish to meet.
Ben here is of a different persuasion.
Not that he knows him at all.
What do you think, Ben?
Well, er, house full of teenage girls -
was there anything dodgy going on?
You really don't know him, do you?
I mean, the idea of John Waverley laying a finger on anyone,
especially the girls at the farm, is ludicrous.
Well, you're right, sir.
This rabbit's a real treat.
Lucy, Snuffer, come on.
(WHISTLES)
Yes, yes.
Must have been left during the night.
But you didn't hear anything?
The dogs didn't bark? No.
It's the work of an amateur, this.
It should say simply "ã10,000, Hallow Bridge, midnight. Leave the area immediately."
Instead, he goes on for a full page.
Um, it isn't the first note I've received.
Where are the others?
Just one.
I owe you an apology, DC Jones.
Barrett did come here on Friday and...
it certainly wasn't to buy eggs.
He never seemed a very warm person
but he was positively glacial that morning.
..would prove most embarrassing.
And just when is this liaison supposed to have taken place?
Clearly when you were using this house as a teenage refuge.
And with whom? Don't let's be so picky, John.
There were nine girls here, none of whom could be called saints.
What about my wife? Didn't she have anything to say about the matter?
She would have done, I'm sure.
If she hadn't been so...
unwell.
He had me boxed in right from the start.
BARRETT: I think we should talk about...
how we are going to get you out of this mess, John.
High Sheriffs are appointed by the Crown,
on the recommendation of local worthies.
A lot of good and important people have put their faith in me.
They're the ones I'd let down... Only if it were true, John.
It doesn't have to be true to be believed, Tom.
DC Jones, I wonder if you'd mind giving us a couple of minutes?
Sir...
Yes, I know. Go on.
What would Jean have told you to do?
Inform you lot straightaway, I suppose.
Then why didn't you?
Someone reported Barrett's murder
from the phone box near his house.
Now, was that someone...you?
What were you doing there?
I'd gone there to reason with him.
At six in the morning? I'm a farmer, for God's sake.
We rise early.
I'm sorry, John, that is not a good enough answer.
My constable out there will think that you went to pay him.
I went there...
I went there at his request to meet the girl.
But why, if you had no intention of paying him?
I had every intention.
I was thinking of those good friends...
So, in order to maintain their faith in you,
you were prepared to enter into a lifetime of obligation
to Martin Barrett?
I was trying to buy some time.
While the press had a field day.
Hallow Bridge.
This is it.
So, you still buy it, then, sir?
Despite the notes? Despite him being ready to cough up?
People do get blackmailed for things they haven't done, Jones.
What about the saying, "There's no smoke without fire"?
Innocent people are accused all the time, detective.
You think this is the old pals' act at work, don't you?
Not if you tell me otherwise.
You mustn't listen to canteen gossip, Jones.
Ten years ago, a vital piece of evidence went missing in a case.
I took the can because it was my inquiry.
But John Waverley, he spoke up for me.
And he did that, not because we were old pals or went to the same school,
though we did.
He did it because he thought it was the right thing to do.
I'm sure it was, sir.
What do you know about this refuge that he and his wife ran?
Er, not a lot.
Not a lot.
Instead of whingeing and whining,
as most of us do,
about kids that go off the rails,
the Waverleys actually threw open their house to nine of them.
Including Hayley Simpson, who you met last night, yeah?
John gave them stability,
gave them a home.
And he got them back on track.
Now, most of us are lucky to do that with our own kids,
let alone someone else's rejects.
When I see a man like that in trouble...
Sir, you've made your point.
Good.
Now, what we've got to do, Jones,
is catch Barrett's apprentice.
I'm damn sure he knows more about Barrett than we do.
Trouble is, there are no common factors.
Ruby Wilmott's a common factor.
Oh, yes, she cleans for some of them. She cleans for them all, sir.
Does she?
And John Waverley?
Oh, yeah.
I saw her the other morning on her way in.
Do you know something, Jones? You're beginning to earn your keep.
Ruby Wilmott.
So, all of Martin Barrett's victims,
at least all the ones we know about,
have clean and tidy houses because of you.
I clean for other folk, too. I'm not exclusive.
Did Martin Barrett use you as some kind of resource?
Eh?
Did he ask you questions about Sir John Waverley?
Jack? The Florians?
Asked you to find things out, maybe?
Look, I didn't always realise what he was up to.
He asked so cleverly
and all spread over weeks, months.
So, sometimes you did realise?
Why, then, did you tell him what he wanted to know?
Was it because he had something on you?
Ruby, did he have something on you? No.
Yes.
Well, I would very much like to know what that something was.
I want him to come.
Where are we going?
To my house.
Good Lord!
And you pinched all this stuff from people you were cleaning for?
It's psychological.
This was my father's.
And this.
This was in the pub! I'm sorry.
Let me guess...
You made the mistake of stealing from Martin Barrett, didn't you?
A man who knew every speck of dust in his house.
Oh...
I think we should talk about my opal cufflinks,
the ones you've just taken from my bedroom.
No!
Oh, don't worry, Ruby.
I won't be sacking you.
Far from it.
'He came up here, saw everything.'
And we struck a deal.
I was to find out things and answer his questions about other people.
Who was he most interested in?
The Florians, by far and away.
Where did they go? Who came to their house? Who phoned them? Then...
one day, he asked me to get some petrol receipts
from their car. To see where they went at weekends.
But you found a receipt for fish?
And the next weekend he followed them to wherever it was.
Brought me back a couple of lobsters.
Right, Ruby Wilmott.
You're going to take us right through the list of your employers...
For the record, you are a real contender for his murder.
Oh, you must be desperate... No, I didn't kill him! Honestly.
Where were you at midnight,
the day he was killed?
I was getting ready for bed.
Well, that's not a very good alibi, is it?
I mean, that's the same one you gave me...Jack.
Are you saying that if slap came to tickle,
you could vouch for each other?
Yes.
But I don't suppose that's much of an alibi either, is it?
TRAIN HORN
'The note said, "The bag will be left on the parapet.
You drive up, put the money in the bag, close the bag up,
and drive away again."
It's a clear night. We shouldn't have any problems.
But don't linger to see if anyone might be around, OK?'
'There'll be police officers nearby, but you won't see them.'
'Yeah. And afterwards, John, come straight back here and wait for us.
We'll join you as soon as we can.
And, er, good luck.'
OWL SCREECHES
I do have a problem with this case, sir.
Nothing major, more sort of... Minor?
Yeah. Ta.
I mean...
here we are, busting a gut to find whoever killed Martin Barrett,
when everyone's glad he's dead.
On the way, we have to harass old boys like Jack Fothergill.
Whereas you think he should be given a medal
for cheating the Chancellor of the Exchequer?
He should certainly be mentioned in Dispatches.
Wake me up if I doze off, will you?
Yes, sir.
SHOUTING
Guv'nor, target is a motorcyclist all in red. He's heading your way.
Right, thanks.
I thought there was more to you than this nasty little caper.
Did you, Tom?
Inspector Barnaby to you.
Then you'd better call me Mrs Redfern.
Interview recorded on 20th August, 2005, at 06:30 hours.
Those present... DCI Barnaby.
For the tape, please, Mrs Redfern.
Mrs Hayley Redfern.
And DC Jones.
The caution has already been given.
So you were a friend of Martin Barrett, were you?
Business associate.
You were there the night he was murdered. Was I?
We've got tissues from the bin. We can put them and you together.
Then that's what you'd better do.
When I first met you,
all those years ago,
I put your problems
down to a rough start.
You know, broken home, abusive father.
But I thought, "You're the girl who'll make it through."
With the help of John Waverley.
His care for you, his belief...
in you.
He gave you a lot.
And is this the way you repay him?
Don't talk to me about what I owe John Waverley or his lady wife.
Whatever they did, it was for themselves.
He was a self-righteous Victorian who thought he could change me.
Well, I didn't wanna be changed.
But changed you'll be, Mrs Redfern,
if you go to prison for Martin Barrett's murder...
Murder? I didn't murder that pathetic...
..Martin Barrett's murder.
I told you, I didn't kill him.
Did you see who did?
Did you?
(JONES KNOCKS ON DOOR)
Hey, Billy!
Where's the guv'nor?
Still in bed, shouldn't wonder.
DOGS BARK
(JONES RATTLES DOOR)
Jones! Come here!
Break it.
DOGS BARK
Sir John! Sir John!
Come on, dogs. Come here.
There's good dogs, there's good dogs. Come on.
Come on, come on! What the hell have you done?
Come on! John!
Come on. In you go. There you go.
John!
John! John!
Anything? Only just.
Get him on his feet. Walk him about, slap his face. Just keep him moving.
Come on, this is not gonna happen. Come on, Sir John!
Wake up! Come on, Sir John!
Come on, Sir John! Come on, stay with me, Sir John.
Come on, wake up! Wake up! Sir John!
That's it, stay awake. Stay with us, Sir John. Stay with us.
How's he doing? He's not good, sir.
Hey, police!
We've got an emergency in the car. It's an overdose.
And together!
Why did he do it, sir?
"But he who filches from me my good name..."
It's allegations, detective, false allegations.
You can deny them as much as you like.
People will never look at you in the same way again.
Even if you didn't do anything?
You think some smart-alec lawyer defending Hayley
would be too bothered about the truth?
"There's no smoke without fire."
Nice bit of driving by the way, sir.
Invigorating. Thank you very much.
Can you get me a cup of coffee?
DOCTOR: That's fine, Mr Florian. Nurse Lynn will show you the way.
Where is she? She's actually in Rosemary Ward.
Which is what - down here? No, down here, second on the left.
OK, thanks very much. You're welcome.
Sir.
Bit of luck.
Excuse me, sister.
Can I help? I hope so.
I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby. This is DC Jones from Causton CID.
We understand that you have a patient in your care,
a Mrs Florian?
Um, yes, Margaret Florian. She came in earlier for a check-up.
A check-up? What for?
Her husband suspected she'd had a mild attack of decompression sickness.
They've been diving.
How long will she be in for?
She'll be going home later tonight, I should think.
Fortunately, her husband's an experienced diver
and he gave her oxygen at the scene of the dive.
Thank you, thank you very much. You've been a great help.
OK.
But don't, please don't tell her we were here.
OK.
SHIP'S HORN
There we go, sir. That's ã8.
You've got ã10 there. Lovely.
MOBILE RINGS
Bye.
Peter Hatchard. "Peter, the very man. Tom Barnaby."
Morning.
"How goes it?"
There have been developments, of sorts.
"And I wouldn't mind your help, since you offered it."
We believe that the Florians have been diving.
And you want to know what for?
"I'll need to search the house at some point."
Yeah, well, why don't you come and stay at our place?
In the meantime, I'll...
"I'll ask round, see what they've been diving for."
Thank you.
Wendy worked on Barrett's background, put him through the immigration mangle.
Turns out he's Australian by birth.
That explains why there's no trace of him here before '91.
Before coming here, he was a sales rep for a timber firm in Taiwan.
Do they have trees in Taiwan?
Well, that depends on how good he was at his job.
Of course they have trees in Taiwan.
PHONE RINGS
Yes?
Does she?
Well, we'll be right down. Thank you.
Hayley Redfern wants to talk to us.
How's Sir John? He's off the danger list.
But we don't need to tell her that, do we?
Ask the custody sergeant to take her down to the canteen.
The canteen?
The canteen. I didn't get breakfast.
Thank you, Sergeant.
Is this coffee or soup?
I never meant it to turn out like this.
John Waverley doing what he's done. I mean...
Aren't you gonna say something?
It was you who wanted to see me, Mrs Redfern.
I'd be very happy never to see you again.
Is he going to die?
We didn't get to him soon enough.
Why did he do it, though?
Disappointment at you letting him down?
People don't kill themselves over things like that.
People like John Waverley do.
I think that what you did...
..destroyed his faith in human nature,
destroyed his belief in himself.
What can I do, though?
Well, you could tell us what else Martin Barrett said
apart from, "Let's ruin the reputation of a thoroughly decent man."
He got chatty.
After dinner. Too much wine.
'He boasted that he had a golden goose lined up.'
Well, geese, actually.
A couple of overfed geese,
who think they're about to get away with a fortune.
'Did he mention a name?' But I know different.
'No.'
He'd been drinking.
But not enough to lower his guard.
Did you see a car?
Make? Number? Anything?
I'm sorry.
Not even a glimpse of who killed him?
The first thing I heard was a...
a shot.
GUNSHOT
And then I just took off.
You didn't even stop to see if he was dead? No.
(EXHALES)
Sergeant, could you get an extension?
I'd like to hold her for another 48 hours. Why?
Why?
Because you had a very good reason to kill Martin Barrett.
You were going to take over his business.
You've been looking at houses. Are we moving?
No, no. We could buy a place down there. It could be an investment.
We could let it out. We could also freeze to death on an average day.
No harm in making in enquiries, is there?
CAR HORN Oh, that's Jones.
I'll give you a ring when we get there. Bye, love.
Take care. I will.
Ruby, you're a wee bit late.
I wasn't sure about coming in at all. Why ever not?
Ted, go and mind the bar for me, will you? There's a good chap.
"If you please" wouldn't come amiss.
Mind you, the shock would probably kill me but I could -
Just do it, Ted, will you?
Didn't even tell me to pour myself a pint while I'm in there either.
Look, I'm hardly a spring chicken, Ruby,
and life isn't exactly brimming over with exciting prospects.
Or, rather, it wasn't until I met you.
A free spirit and all that.
Free for the moment. Do you think they'll take us to court, Jack?
What if they did? Would they send us to prison? I doubt it.
So, where does it leave you and me, then?
Carrying on much as before, I'd say.
With the added frisson that...
although we missed our true vocation as criminals,
we each had our moments.
Let's crack on before Ted drinks the day's profits.
Mrs Hatchard...
Your husband has, I hope, checked up with you about us?
Staying here? Yes.
Talk of the devil. Tom.
Peter. Good to see you again.
This is Ben Jones. Hello.
Now, look, unless you're fixed up for supper tonight,
I thought we'd go down to our little place on the beach
and barbecue a couple of sea trout. That sounds absolutely perfect.
Come on. I'll show you your rooms.
And mine.
I went over to the Florians' house this morning, by the way.
The boat was there. They weren't.
It all looked the same as the last time, frankly. Empty.
Watch your feet.
Any thoughts on the diving angle? What do you think they were diving for?
Yeah, I've been talking to a couple of the old boys over in Shale.
They reckon that a ship called the Harlequin ran onto Fuller's Sweep and broke up.
When was this?
1846, but it loses nothing in the telling.
They reckon she was carrying gold artefacts from France.
That would make it treasure-trove, wouldn't it?
Isn't there supposed to be a register of wrecks somewhere?
Yeah, at the Admiralty but there's no record of the Harlequin.
How do we confirm or deny, then?
Well, I've got my diving certificate.
My diving gear's still in good shape.
Why don't we go out there tomorrow morning and give it the once over?
My usual fee. I'm dirt cheap.
ENGINE HUMS
ENGINE OFF
Can I help with that?
Here we go. Switch me on.
Richard!
Oh! What do we do?
I can't dive now, that's for sure.
I think we should call his bluff.
And let's see just how smart our Mr Barnaby really is.
Good day to you, Inspector.
What on earth are you doing?
You go first. What are you doing?
We're off to France. Booze and fags.
Can we get you anything?
No, thank you.
JONES: So now they know we're onto them.
That won't worry Richard Florian.
He sails very close to the wind. Not just today.
Every day.
I've got it!
How will that do you, then? That will do me very nicely.
Is there any more down there?
Well, I reckon they've had the bulk of the stash but...
there's still enough down there to bring them back again.
So, what's next?
We make friends with the local police.
He's becoming rather predictable, our Mr Barnaby.
All the same, what do we do? There's nothing we need to do.
If they're searching the place, they won't find anything.
Mr Florian, you've arrived just in time, sir.
We won't have to break your door down now.
Inspector, I'm trying very hard to see a funny side to this but it's eluding me.
That's because there isn't one.
This is a search warrant. May I have the keys to your house, please, sir?
I find all this rather stressful, Inspector. What are you hoping to find?
Oh, yes, I'm sorry. You've been poorly.
Decompression sickness.
I assure you everything inside will be left exactly as we found it.
Unless, of course, we find what we're really looking for.
Well, you didn't find it in our house in Midsomer Worthy.
Oh, yes, Mrs Wilmott told us you'd broken in.
Helped yourself. On the contrary, sir.
Mrs Wilmott invited us in.
Even offered us coffee.
The trailer's full of cigarettes and alcohol, sir. French.
Well, I did ask you if you wanted us to get you something.
I have to tell you, Barnaby, you're gonna be very disappointed.
Sir, I think you better come and have a look at this.
You were saying?
In the living room, sir, stuffed into the sofa under the webbing.
I've never seen that gun before. If I had a pound for every time...
Did you hear what I said? I have never seen that gun in my life.
What exactly do we have here?
These cartridges are home-made, Mr Florian.
I'll have them sent to Causton immediately
to have them compared with the pellets which killed Martin Barrett.
And the marks on the cartridge case
found at the crime scene
tested against the hammer of that gun there.
And if they match up,
as I believe they will,
you'll both be charged with murder.
In the meantime...
I'm arresting you on suspicion of it.
No question about it. The same mix of shot.
The same hammer marks on the cartridge cases.
The guy might just as well have signed his name.
Thank you, George. Erm, France? 'Tomorrow.'
Apparently the weather there is fabulous today.
What's it like where you are? Er...too hot, really.
We got 'em. Congratulations.
What happens next?
Er, local police take 'em down to Causton.
They'll both be charged with murder.
Well, thank you very much for what you've done, both of you. Thank you.
Oh, glad we could help.
Just gonna take a short detour on the way home, Jones.
Where to, sir?
SEA GULLS CRY
It looks bigger in the photo. Always does, sir.
What's it for, anyway?
Well, you know, Jones, one day...
What? Retirement, sir? It has to happen sometime.
And I was just getting to know you.
Look, I meant at some indeterminate point in the future. Ah.
So, we've got 'em, Jones, the Florians.
So why am I not a happy man, eh?
The weather, sir?
What is it with your generation and a stiff breeze, eh?
And you're actually going to paddle, sir?
You know that lot's come straight down from the Arctic Ocean?
Yes...
I am.
And I still haven't got a camera with me.
Seriously, why don't I feel, you know, right about this?
Well, we haven't found the gold
so how can we prove that the Florians were after it,
let alone Barrett being onto them?
Ah, but we've got a murder weapon
and the cartridges. They all match up.
Fingerprints? No.
But... No, no, you're right.
I can't even prove that Barrett was ever down here in Fennacombe.
That's no problem, sir. You can get a statement off Hatchard for that.
How come? He never met Barrett.
Who says?
Well, HE says - Peter Hatchard. I showed him the photo of Barrett.
But, sir, they must have met.
Why?
Barrett had the receipt Ruby Wilmott nicked for him.
The lock-up would have been his starting point, just like it was yours.
I mean, you didn't come down here
and yell out, "Has anyone seen Richard Florian?"
You went straight to Hatchard's fish stall.
And Barrett would have done that too, yeah?
So why did he lie? Why did Peter Hatchard lie about meeting the man, eh?
Oh, my...God. We arrested the wrong man.
I see what you mean. I see what you mean too.
This water's bloody freezing.
My jacket. My phone.
Phone my home, eh?
Get the home number.
Hi, Cully, it's Ben Jones.
Hang on a sec.
Cully? Have the binmen been?
Well, I don't know. "It's very important, I want -"
Mum. Binmen, have they been? Tomorrow morning.
"Oh, good, look..."
I want you and your mother to sift through the rubbish.
See if you can find the rabbit, OK?
Dad! I need the lead shot that you all picked out of the meat
and placed so delicately round the edges of your plate.
Take it down to George Bullard
and ask him if it matches up with all the stuff we've got. OK?
"I'll phone ahead and warn him. Bye."
Right. You and I are going to the local police station.
I want to know if Martin Barrett
and Peter Hatchard ever met in another life.
One was in Hong Kong. The other in Taiwan.
It's not beyond the bounds.
This is it.
Tom, did you forget something?
Yes, I did.
Ah, got one.
We're just about to have a drink. Why don't you come and join us?
Not a social call, Peter. It's business, so...no drinks, thank you.
But we'd still like to come in.
We had to go all the way to Australia to get what we needed, Peter.
Long trip. Yes, indeed.
But even the steam-powered computer at Fennacombe police station got there in the end.
Martin Barrett was firmly lodged in the Australian legal system
because when he was in Taiwan,
he went to the Australian embassy there for help.
He was in trouble? What kind of trouble?
He was trafficking people into Hong Kong.
When the Hong Kong police caught up with him,
they wanted to know who his contact was on shore.
And they found it was one of their own.
An ex-colonial police officer by the name of Peter Hatchard,
QPM. No. Peter wouldn't do -
Sure you won't have that drink? Very sure.
You don't mind if I do? The reason they caught up with you,
Peter, is because Martin Barrett told them exactly where you were,
in your rather splendid house in up-market Kowloon.
And in return for that information, he only got one year for what he did,
whereas you, being an ex-policeman,
and in spite of your exemplary record, got 25.
Which is interesting because, presumably, you didn't serve it all.
I did five. I knew the set-up.
Who to talk to.
Who to pay. And you still had money from the enterprise.
Not by the time they finished with me.
Carol, did you know anything about this? She knew nothing.
Carol and I met here.
I was brought up just down the road
and like all good criminals, I returned to the scene of the crime.
All right, Carol, I'll tell you
why I'm going to have to arrest your husband on a charge of murder.
We received this an hour ago from the forensic lab.
It says, as you see, that the mix of lead shot in those two rabbits
you so kindly gave to my wife, unbeknown to your husband,
is exactly the same as the stuff which killed Martin Barrett.
See, Peter, if it hadn't been for those rabbits, you'd be home and dry.
And it wasn't smart to say you'd never seen Barrett before.
Yes.
What a godforsaken day it was
when he just...
turned up out of nowhere.
Ten years I'd been back in England.
Time enough, I thought, for the past not to jump up and...
bite me in the face.
I thought he'd gone back to Oz.
And there I was...
Bright, sunny day, mopping out the lock-up.
And I heard the voice.
I'll have a couple of those lovely lobsters, please,
and 30 seconds of your time. Yes.
Do you know where my friends, Richard and Margaret Florian, live, by any chance?
Only I'm sure they have a place here.
Yes, they're down by the estuary.
And where is that?
I knew by his manner...
That ingratiating...smarmy voice...
the Florians weren't friends of his.
Didn't know why he wanted to get in touch with them.
Didn't know until you turned up.
So you went down there and, in your own good time, you shot him.
But when we got close, you planted the gun at the Florians' cottage.
Why, Peter?
Why...
when we've got all this...
..do you have to go and spoil it?
That's the most intelligent question yet, Peter. Why?
I spent five years in Shek Pik Prison because of him.
And as an ex-policeman... that was no picnic.
It cost me a small fortune to escape.
And when I did...
..my wife had divorced me
and my children were...
..God knows where.
Revenge. Pure and simple.
Sir John Waverley. Tom.
The nurse told me you saved my life.
Oh, well, let's say we assisted in preventing it from ending prematurely.
There's copper speak for you. How are you doing?
Things are better. Good.
What's in the bag?
Ah! In the bag, John, are some things belonging to you and Jean, like this.
Good Lord!
Ruby Wilmott. Yep.
Do you want to press charges? No.
What about Hayley Simpson?
I say: give her another chance.
Well, I'll see what I can do.
John, good to see you.
Good to see you, Tom.
Wait for the word, gentlemen.
Mr Barnaby. Mr Florian.
You've come to apologise...again.
No, I thought once was enough.
Then why are you here? To tie up a few loose ends, Mrs Florian.
You've brought an awful lot of people with you for a few loose ends.
That's because we're going to rip your house apart...
sir. Ooh, this is really over the top, Barnaby.
You've been through the place once. I don't think we have.
We poked around a bit, sir, and, as you know, we came up with nothing.
Hm. Better luck this time, though, eh?
Thank you.
I wish he'd take that smug look off his face.
Is that smug, sir? It looks more like a fingers-crossed look to me.
That's wishful thinking, lad.
Mind you, I have to say that your instinct on this case has been much, much better than mine.
I got Hatchard very wrong.
For all the right reasons, though.
Mind you, you got Waverley wrong.
We'll call it quits. Mm.
So what does your finely-honed instinct tell you about this situation, then, eh?
Are we flogging a dead horse?
Have they sold on whatever they dredged up from the wreck?
Or is this something else we have entirely wrong?
No. Those two are as dodgy as they come.
And you're right, sir, it is a smug look.
Aw!
TRICKLING
Tool box!
Bring it over here.
Tool box, Constable, and sharpish.
Let's get the grille off.
Well, well, well!
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