Girl

Captioning sponsored by VIEWERS LIKE YOU (thunder) (woman wailing) The ancient city of Oxford in the early 1960s-- not that long ago, and yet it's a different world where a young man with a love of opera and a history of failure at Oxford University is an unlikely sort of policeman.

He's considered standoffish and rude by his fellows on the force.

His new superior thinks he's a troublemaker... and he is.

Because he goes after the truth, even if it turns out to be messy and dangerous.

An unlikely sort of policeman, but a great detective.

His name is Endeavour.

Endeavour Morse.

♫♫ This indicates the symmetric fragments are caused by a passage of the fissioning nucleus through an asymmetric saddle point.

(choir singing) ♫♫ TUTOR: And now, ladies, we'll have that last exercise again.

Margaret Bell.

Concentrate.

(choir singing) Anything for the weekend, sir?

No, thank you.

Ten shilling postal order, please.

♫♫ (woman singing) (phone ringing) MAN: The plane that dropped the bomb on Hiroshima was named for the pilot's mother, Enola Gay Tibbets.

And the bomb, that obscenity in her belly, they christened it "Little Boy".

Was Mrs. Tibbets proud of her little boy that day?

(cheers and applause) (choir singing) Say good night to Grandpa.

Good night, Bobby.

Sleep tight.

♫♫ (bells ringing) GREAVES: He had a hat and everything.

What about identification?

I didn't think to ask... with the hat.

You usually get a receipt when the meter's emptied, don't you?

He said I'd get one in the post.

Ah!

BRIGHT: My name is Bright, Chief Superintendent Bright.

And firstly, I would just like to express my gratitude to Detective Inspector Thursday for holding the fort so admirably, pending my arrival.

Secondly... Secondly, you should be aware that I am putting this station on notice.

I do not propose to speak ill of my predecessor, but where there are breaches of procedure or Spanish practices, you will find me a horse of a very different color.

That said, I want you to regard my appointment as a tabula rasa.

A clean slate.

You play fair by me, then I will play fair by you.

Carry on.

Around and around the rugged rock the ragged rascal ran.

(chuckling) What?

Well, it's a bit cheap, isn't it?

He'd be right up your street, I suppose.

Tabula rasa.

My Aunt Flo.

If you've no work, Jakes, some will be found for you.

Sir.

THURSDAY: Don't let them get a rise.

It's nothing.

Insubordination's what it is.

By proxy.

You're my bagman.

I know what's going 'round the canteen.

The job should have gone to a detective sergeant.

Well, it didn't, it went to you.

You're here on merit.

Not that you'd know it by the state of you.

You might have found time to run an iron.

That shirt looks like you've slept in it.

First impressions, Morse.

Right.

Sudden death on Southmore Road.

Uniform just wants the all clear.

Thank you, sir.

You're meant to be on the door, aren't you?

Sorry.

Just come off nights.

It's playing havoc with my...

I think I can live without the details of your digestive timetable, thank you very much.

Who are you?

For all you know, I'm just someone wandered in off the street, intent on a bit of housebreaking.

You're going to be like that about it, let's see some identification, matey!

Sharpish.

Oh.

You're Morse.

Strange.

What is?

I am.

Me.

My name.

Jim Strange.

The sawbones is here, if you wanted a word.

(footsteps approaching) MAX: It's all right.

You can look.

Nothing here to frighten the horses.

No blood, leastways.

What's the, uh... My extensively educated medical guess would be a heart attack.

Young, isn't she?

You'll need to run her GP to ground, but digoxin would suggest a heart defect of some sort.

Time of death?

Rigor completely passed.

So, sometime before noon on Saturday.

Do we know who she was?

Margaret Bell.

Family's in Rhodesia, according to Miss Byng.

Landlady.

She's next door at the minute having a cuppa for the shock.

There's two other girls live here, but they went away Friday morning for a week in Rhyl.

That's as far as you've got, is it?

No.

Student, I'd say.

One of the... colleges.

Beaufort College; these are Beaufort colors.

It's unlikely she'd have been an undergrad there.

Why not?

Because they don't admit women.

More likely secretarial college.

I've already had a go through her purse.

30 bob and a French letter.

Unused.

MAX: "Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never is, but always to be blest."

Keep me posted on the GP, Morse.

WOMAN: Okay, let's go.

Whoo... Good boy, Bobby.

There you go.

Did you like that?

Did you like the driving?

Don't be cross.

I was just passing.

Don't talk rot, Pamela.

You know perfectly well you weren't.

I brought a few changes.

They're all clean.

That's very good of you.

But you needn't have, really.

I'm expecting Frank home any minute for lunch.

I could make junket.

Bobby could help me, couldn't you, darling?

Honestly.

You can't keep doing this.

Five post offices knocked over in the last two months, sir.

All within a 20-mile radius.

None on our ground, though.

Not as yet.

But as well to be prepared, sir.

I'd prefer you concentrated on this gas meter menace.

It transpires one of his victims is great-aunt to the assistant chief constable.

I've promised we'll roll out the silver service.

Rapid result.

Right, sir.

Well, if there was nothing else, I'll...

There is one other matter.

I understand you've a detective constable acting as bagman?

Morse, sir.

Good man.

They're all good men, Thursday.

But the rank system is there for a purpose.

Bagman is a detective sergeant's post.

He is an exceptional officer, sir.

Barely two years in uniform before being transferred to CID.

Which, you may rely, means no one knew what to do with him.

Or his talents lay elsewhere.

A grammar scholarship and a failed degree might impress some.

But the truth of it is he lacks experience.

I'm bringing him on.

I'd as soon we didn't get off on the wrong foot, Thursday.

Likewise, sir.

On your own recognizance, then.

And for a probationary period only.

The first hint of a hullabaloo, he'll be returned to General Duties.

Sir.

ENDEAVOUR: In Miss Bell's room we found a bottle of digoxin.

Which is a derivative of digitalis, isn't it?

Quite dangerous, I'd have thought.

Dr. Prentice?

Yes, quite lethal.

It's not called deadly nightshade for nothing.

But for certain cases, such as Margaret's congenital heart weakness, it can actually help the heart muscle contract and do its work.

Which is why, I have to say, I am surprised.

Surprised?

A heart attack.

If she was taking her medication, then... You will notify me as to the inquest?

Of course.

Hello, old girl.

Lunch won't be long.

Oh, hang lunch.

Not now, Frank, please.

I'm getting a head.

Perhaps at the weekend.

Pamela's here.

Making junket, if you please.

I do wish she wouldn't just drop by.

Maybe you can talk to her.

Yes, all right, if you like.

I said you'd run her into town when you're back from the surgery.

Perhaps that would be a good time to raise it.

DENIS: I lent her my scarf the last time I saw her.

ENDEAVOUR: When did you see her last, Denis?

DENIS: We were meant to go out Friday, but she... couldn't make it.

Here, have a smoke.

Steady your nerves.

No, thanks.

I don't.

What about Miss Bell?

Did she smoke?

No.

I don't think so.

Your... uh... with Miss Bell... That was a... full relationship?

She wasn't that sort of girl.

What sort of girl was she?

Nice.

She wouldn't laugh at you or make you feel small just because you've not had it all handed to you on a plate.

Scholarship?

There's no shame in that.

Not many girls here'd go with a bloke darns his own cuffs.

God knows what she was doing with me.

THURSDAY: Right.

What have we got today?

Monday: cheese and pickle.

Tuesday: luncheon meat.

No need to ruin it; anticipation's half the fun.

Cheese and pickle, what do you know?

So, this sudden death.

Margaret Bell.

20 years old.

At secretarial school.

Looks to be natural causes.

Looks to be?

She had a heart condition.

But her GP said should've been fine if she was taking her medication.

Maybe she forgot.

Maybe, but she'd had someone there the night she died.

So she had a boyfriend; there's no law against it.

This isn't her steady, he doesn't smoke.

There were some cigarettes in a saucer on the window ledge.

It rained early Friday evening, but the saucer was dry.

Dr. deBryn doesn't anticipate anything untoward?

No, but... You're kicking your heels.

I'd sooner you turned your mind to these gas meter jobs.

Get a decent collar or two under your belt.

Oh, and mind how you go with Mr.

Bright.

It looks to be a bit of a stickler for rules and regs.

It's my card he's after marking, not yours.

Keep your head down and your nose clean.

Concentrate on your police work, all right?

(sighs) ENDEAVOR: "Going to the Moonlight Rooms with you know who."

Any idea who that might be?

I think it may be Derek.

She spoke about some man called Derek who works in the post office.

Thanks, Wallace.

Thanks very much.

(distant chatter) ENDEAVOR: She died on Friday.

I just wondered if you knew her.

DEREK: I can't say I knew her well.

Only to say hello to.

Really?

Because she'd written in her shorthand notebook she was meeting you-know-who at the Moonlight Rooms Friday.

And her friends were of the opinion that you-know-who referred to you.

DEREK: I don't know why they'd think that.

I might've said I'd see her there sometime.

If I was going.

But, as it was, I ended up down the Legion on Edgecombe Road.

The Legion?

That's a bit dull, isn't it?

I go for the old man, he's a member.

So, you didn't meet Margaret later?

Look, you asked me if I'd seen her, I said no.

Did you know she had a boyfriend?

Who's that, then?

College boy?

It's what they come here for, isn't it, secretaries?

Looking to pick themselves up a husband.

Some blue with prospects if they can get it.

I don't think I mentioned she was a secretary.

The impression I got.

(bell chiming) Cheerio, Wally.

WALLACE: Morning, love.

Mr. Clark.

Derek.

Afternoon, Miss-- just the regular?

Please.

Everything all right, officer?

WALLACE: He's not in any trouble, is he?

ENDEAVOUR: Just a routine inquiry, Mr. Clark.

He's a good lad.

Yeah, I'm sure.

Thank you.

We've got the poster up.

PC Nixon dropped it round.

Very nice young man, he is.

It's a worry, though.

Kidlington?

I mean, that's only up the road.

ENDEAVOUR: Well, if you see anyone acting suspiciously or loitering outside.

WALLACE: Casing the place, you mean?

Yeah, the robberies seem to have been conducted with some foreknowledge.

Cash deliveries and what have you.

Anyone you're not sure of, just give the station a call, and we'll have someone round.

WALLACE: What was all that about?

Nothing.

Some girl I half know died.

What do you mean "died"?

What of?

How do I know?

Just died.

They're talking to everyone as knew her.

Mr. Truby from Regional's coming by for eight.

I want you to take him through the quarterlies.

You know I'm out Mondays.

You're out every night!

It's a wonder you've any money left.

Jesus.

Hey, I won't have language, not in this house.

If your mother could see you carrying on.

She can't, though, can she?

She's dead.

She's dead, and it's just you and me and fish fingers, pension books, a world without end.

Halle-bloody-lujah!

I've done my best.

What do you want?

Something else.

Something more.

Not this.

(opera music playing) (gunshot) (opera music continues) THURSDAY: Do we know who he was?

JAKES: No wallet on him, sir.

But the car's registered to a Dr. Cartwright.

Got a practice in Florence Park with a Dr. Prentice.

Prentice?

Yeah.

Why?

I was there yesterday.

He's the GP in that sudden death, sir.

Margaret Bell.

Killed some time between 9:00 and midnight.

Single shot.

Weapon discharged from over by the door there.

Bullet entered the skull half an inch above the left point of the supra-orbital ridge and went on its merry way, to exit at about the median point of the left parietal-occipital suture line.

And... yes.

End up... Hey, as it were, presto.

BRIGHT: No wallet, you say?

Robbery, then.

Possibly, sir.

In any event, I think it best Sergeant Jakes assume management of the Incident Room for the duration.

DC Morse is my bagman, sir.

BRIGHT: Morse may remain as your driver and aide de camp, but a case such as this requires an officer of experience and more senior rank to coordinate the inquiry.

You're giving primary consideration to this bicycle, I take it.

Quite right.

Sir?

I recall a not dissimilar case in Freetown.

The usual mammy palaver, but the killer left his bicycle at the scene.

You should be able to trace its owner from the frame number.

Really?

In Oxford?

What Morse means to say, sir, is that there's probably more cycles hereabouts than just about anywhere in the country.

Bikes get lost, borrowed, stolen, right?

Yes, sir.

But, if the registered owner isn't left-handed, then he's almost certainly not our man.

Left-handed?

As you'd have noticed, sir, given the opportunity to examine it yourself.

The front and rear brake cables have been swapped over.

He'll also be an older man and of limited means.

Possibly.

How'd you get to that, then?

Well, the bike's ancient, but well maintained.

Which points to thrift, I'd have thought.

Taken together with evidence of absent-mindedness.

What evidence?

Well, he sometimes forgets to wear his bicycle clips, sir.

There are scraps of material torn from his trousers caught amongst the gears, one a cavalry twill, the others linen, both black.

He wears subfusc as a matter of habit.

A don, then.

Perhaps, sir.

But I think given the limited means, we're looking for a man of the cloth.

A vicar shooting somebody in a lav?

I'd hope you'll eliminate known criminals from your inquiries first, Thursday, before troubling any clergymen, what?

Really, Constable Morse... You should be on the halls.

That minding how you go, is it?

THURSDAY: How long had you and Dr. Cartwright been in practice together?

18 months.

We were juniors together at the Radcliffe.

Is there anyone you can think of would wish to harm him?

Anyone with whom he's had a falling out?

No, not a soul.

Dr. Cartwright wore a wedding band, sir.

I presume he was married?

Yes, a girl called Helen.

They live at Sloan House, by Cumnor.

Place belongs to her father, Edmund Sloan.

He's professor of physics at Beaufort.

Sir Edmund Sloan?

The Atom Man?

Yes, that's right.

I'd like to put him in the picture, unless you have any objection.

ENDEAVOUR: Coincidence, don't you think?

Yesterday we find Margaret Bell dead.

And today the partner of her GP is found shot dead.

Sudden death's sudden death.

Just because it's a pretty girl doesn't make it murder.

I didn't say it was.

It's Cartwright has been shot, not Prentice.

What's this all about?

Perhaps you should sit down, Mrs. Cartwright.

Oughtn't we to wait for Sir Edmund?

Wait for Daddy for what?

I'm afraid I have some very grave news for you.

Who is it, Helen?

The police.

Sorry, my little sister, Mrs.

Waters.

Is it Daddy?

No, madam.

It concerns your husband, Mrs. Cartwright.

I'm sorry to tell you his body was discovered this morning at Godstow.

He'd been shot.

My God.

Helen, I... Oh, my God, somebody catch her!

It's all right, it's a seizure.

She'll be all right in a minute.

We just have to keep talking to her.

Pamela?

Pamela, good girl.

We're all here.

That's it, good girl.

Keep talking to her.

Just breathe.

Good girl, all right.

Well done.

That's it.

It's all right.

Would you know if there's any firearms kept on the premises, Mrs. Cartwright?

My mother had a pistol.

For vermin-- squirrels and the like.

I haven't seen it in years.

Helen.

He's gone.

(sobbing): He's gone.

I know, I know... Oh, Daddy.

Shh... (sobbing) It was here.

Together with a box of ammunition.

When did you last see it?

I doubt I've opened this drawer in years.

Frank may have borrowed it for something.

Can you think of anyone who bore him any ill will?

Some disgruntled patient, or... No.

He had a perfect bedside manner.

No problems at the practice?

Did he get on well with Dr. Prentice?

So far as I'm aware.

I know you'll need to speak to all of us, but if you could go gently with Pamela?

She's been through a lot.

Gerald, her husband, died.

I'm afraid this will have brought it all back.

What happened to him?

A car crash.

The other fellow's fault.

Drink.

When was this?

Two, two-and-a-half years ago.

It made the papers, I believe.

Had they been long married?

Just back from honeymoon.

A whirlwind romance.

He was some young chap she'd met at ICI in London.

She had a job in the typing pool.

Registry office.

None of us invited, of course.

I'm afraid we'd rather lost touch.

With Pamela's illness... things have not always been easy between us.

If you could be careful with her?

Of course, sir.

You'd better hang on, see what the sister's got to say when she comes to.

Right.

Just the who, what, where and when of it.

It's all we're after for the time being.

I'll get a car to run you and Mrs. Cartwright down to the mortuary for the formal ID.

Did she have any idea what her husband was doing at Godstow?

Keen angler, apparently.

Evenings he was on call, he'd go fishing after work.

Which is all right so far as it goes, but it's close season.

Whatever her husband was doing at Godstow last night, it wasn't fishing.

Who are you?

Constable Morse.

I've seen you before.

Cowley Parade yesterday.

Where's Bobby?

My little boy.

Helen.

I'm so sorry.

But, look, I don't think it's fair for Helen to have to cope with Bobby on top of everything else.

So why don't I just take him home with me?

Just until you've had a chance to come to terms with everything.

I can't cope with this today.

Really, I can't.

Now, Pamela... Daddy.

I'm just trying to do what's best.

Please, my dear.

You promised, you said you'd see if I'd been good.

You can't just keep him here.

Tell her she can't.

Helen.

He belongs to me.

He's mine.

Daddy?

Daddy, please.

You always take her side.

I'm going to telephone a taxi.

If Bobby's things aren't here, ready by the time I get back, there'll be hell to pay.

Can you give me the fare?

I can take you home.

No.

No, I'm not going anywhere with you.

You're in it with them.

Please?

Ten shillings should cover it.

Please don't give her any money.

Of course.

Bloody fool.

Helen...

He thinks he's helping.

You think you're helping, but you're not.

You don't know her.

THURSDAY: As far as the family's concerned, Mrs. Cartwright took a sleeping pill and went to bed at 10:00.

BRIGHT: And the girl with the fits?

ENDEAVOUR: Dr. Cartwright dropped her back from Sloan House to her flat in Florence Park before going on his rounds.

And?

Sir Edmund was working in his rooms at Beaufort College, sir.

Says he got home about 11:00.

He's someone, isn't he?

Worked with the Americans on the bomb.

Knighted for it.

Long and short is, there's not one of the family with a solid alibi, sir.

Family?

I thought it was a robbery.

His wallet's gone, sir, certainly.

But his watch, wedding ring, tie pin, it's all here.

Not much of a robber to leave those behind.

Adhesive plaster, sir.

He was on call last night.

Final patient he attended was half-eight.

Summertown.

Then what's he doing driving all the way out to Godstow?

THURSDAY: Fancy woman on the go, maybe?

JAKES: There is another possibility, sir.

Given where it's happened.

Oh.

A touch of the chase-me- Charlies, you mean?

No kids, have they?

An immoral rendezvous?

I should hope this case might be resolved without resorting to gross slurs against a man's character.

For heaven's sake!

Dr. Cartwright was married, wasn't he?

(distant arguing) EDMUND: You must think us very heartless.

One has to put the child first.

She's not fit, you see.

If something happened...

When did the seizures start?

She was about 12.

Which Frank said is often the case.

Helen!

But Pamela was always a difficult child.

She told tall tales.

Lies, I suppose.

She hid things.

La gazza ladra, we called her.

Was she violent in her fits?

And desperately strong.

My wife was against it, but we... we had her put away.

I've put him down.

Hopefully, he'll just cry himself to sleep.

When was she released?

We were talking of Pamela.

My God... even today.

Helen... Just after her 18th birthday.

Though what that's to do with my husband being shot I have no idea.

Please.

When Mommy was dying, she had us promise to bring Pamela home.

Frank explained there'd been miraculous advances with drugs such as she really ought to be able to manage on her own.

That's when she went to London?

My inspector said she had a job there with ICI?

Frank was at St. Mary's at the time, so he could look in and make sure she was taking her tablets.

But, um... when he came back to Oxford, telephone calls went unanswered.

Letters returned unopened.

EDMUND: Then, one day, she just turned up here.

A young widow, with a child in tow.

Yes, that's... Frank Cartwright.

HELEN: My husband always looked on the bright side of things.

Happy-go-lucky.

I suppose that's what first drew me to him.

After, well, things at home weren't always... ENDEAVOUR: It must have been difficult for you growing up.

HELEN: One learned not to mention the P word.

But I missed her, for all her... Mommy would have never allowed that.

It was... very nice.

You know, a colony.

For people like Pamela.

An epileptic colony.

(bell ringing) (dog barking) Hello, anyone in?

Heavy, I'd imagine, lugging all that lot about.

This you, is it?

Meter.

Like to see some identification, if you don't mind.

Wouldn't you know it?

Must have left it in my other trousers.

Pity.

See, I've got mine.

MAN: You rung the depot?

ENDEAVOUR: Out of hours, I'm afraid.

I called an emergency number, but they've no record of you.

Paperwork can't have gone through yet.

I've only been in the job three weeks.

Constable Spencer will see you're taken care of for a drink and a hot meal.

Made an arrest, then?

We'll hang the flags out.

An honest mistake, sir.

Well, that's not how the gas board sees it.

Aye-aye.

The gas man cometh.

BRIGHT: I spent two hours on the telephone last night rectifying matters.

At home!

Mrs.

Bright's bridge evening was quite ruined.

An honest working man arrested while going about his lawful business.

It's not good enough, Thursday.

I think you'd better make yourself scarce.

MONKFORD: Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live and is full of misery.

He fleeth as it were a shadow and continueth not in one stay.

And dost thou open thine eyes upon such a one... and bringest me into judgment with thee.

Had you reported the bicycle stolen, Reverend Monkford?

No, no.

Someone else's need was clearly far greater than mine.

When was this?

Oh, gosh... a few weeks ago now.

Yes, I should've kept it chained up, I suppose.

It was found by the river at Godstow.

Outside a public convenience.

Do you know the area?

No, no.

I'm afraid I don't.

Have you ever met a Dr. Cartwright?

Frank Cartwright?

He has a practice in Florence Park.

Well, I know all the doctors in my parish, obviously.

But that's about it.

You've an interest in science.

Yes.

Yes, I read chemistry at Beaufort before the war.

But I've kept a keen interest in the nature of things.

You know, the truth of them.

Something we have in common, I should imagine.

Well, we share a passion for cruciverbalism, certainly.

Yes.

I've always had a weakness for a puzzle.

Alas, I'm a little off my game today.

You might want to take a look at 11 down.

"Running over a dune is an effort."

Nine letters.

I think it should help you with the southwest quadrant.

You do seem an unlikely sort of policeman, if you'll forgive me.

It's rather where I've ended up.

By way of academe and the Signal Corps.

Jack of all trades.

The Signal Corps?

What were you doing there?

I was a cipher clerk.

Cipher clerk.

Indeed.

I noticed a grave in your churchyard.

Lady Daphne Sloan, 1903-1960.

Anything to do with the Sloans at Cumnor, would you know?

Oh, yes, yes.

Yes, the Sloan family have a long association with St. Elegius going back many generations.

Yes, I married one of them a few years ago.

Well, performed the service, at least.

Helen, would that be?

Possibly.

I'm afraid names don't... you know.

As a matter of interest, where were you Monday night?

Monday night?

Yes, I was here.

Preparing a sermon for Sunday.

It's an expository.

St. Matthew, chapter seven, verse seven.

I have to ask.

How did you find me?

Process of elimination.

There aren't that many left- handed vicars in the diocese.

I'll see your bike's returned to you just as soon as we're done with it.

Thank you.

Seeing as you've helped me, by way of recompense.

After beard teased, an exclamation of surprise will bring you home.

11 letters.

It's something for you to think about on the way back to town.

DENIS: Oh, I've left my... All right.

Sir Edmund, I wonder, might I speak with you a moment?

I was just on my way to hall.

Perhaps you'd care to join me?

I'd be glad of your company.

That's very kind.

Not at all.

That was Denis Bradley, wasn't it?

One of my brightest.

A rather promising young physicist.

And more importantly, an accomplished transcriber.

He's been helping with my memoirs.

Typing up my rather illegible longhand.

How do you know him?

A girl he was seeing, Margaret Bell, died suddenly last weekend.

Oh, good heavens.

I'd no idea.

Oh, the poor boy.

Of course, that would explain it.

Explain what?

The latest pages he turned in were awash with typographical lacunae.

I'm afraid I may have been a little hard on him.

Has he ever been to Sloan House?

Once or twice.

To collect my notes and deliver fair copy.

He'd have known Dr. Cartwright, then?

Frank?

Yes, I suppose he would have seen him about the place.

Please... EDMUND: Now, you must tell me.

I've rather held off asking, but I gather you were at Lonsdale.

Where would you gather that?

Oh, talk in the SCR.

Oxford's a self-regarding sort of place, insular.

You can't deny the novelty of a Greats undergraduate serving as a constable with the city police.

I can try.

Your daughter's marriage to Dr. Cartwright.

Was that an altogether happy one?

Well, I'd say no marriage is altogether happy, but Helen and Frank were happier than most.

And your own relationship with Dr. Cartwright-- how was that?

Whatever reservations I may have had, Frank became like a son to me.

A happy family, then.

Happiness is subjective, don't you think?

Take me.

Feted.

Titled.

And yet... My wife.

Pamela.

And now Frank.

I'd say it was a judgment, if I believed in such things.

For what?

I helped unleash a force with the power to wipe mankind from the face of the earth.

And that troubles you?

A quarter of a million souls is a lot to answer for.

It would seem I'm not alone in that view.

How long's this been going on?

About six months.

No specific threats as such?

No, a single word most of the time.

Variations on a theme.

Monster, killer, murderer.

To do with his war work?

Well, that's how he took it.

But now with his son-in-law being killed... Got the wind up, has he?

Well, you'd better see if there's anything in it.

How did you make out with that bike?

Any luck?

Yes and no.

It belonged to a Reverend Monkford, vicar of St. Elegius.

Good.

But says it was stolen some time ago.

Not him that cycled down to Godstow, then?

No, says he was in Monday night, working on a sermon.

Maybe we'll have better luck with this gun.

Mr.

Bright wants the river dragged, so I'm breaking out the gumboots.

Do you want me to run you?

No, no.

Jakes will do.

He's got a list together of Cartwright's patients.

I'd sooner you went through that, see if there's any with form.

Particularly firearms offenses.

There is one more thing, sir.

Margaret Bell's boyfriend, Denis Bradley.

I thought we'd been over that.

Well, it turns out he's been helping Sir Edmund Sloan with his memoirs.

So if the murder weapon is the revolver taken from Sloan House, Bradley's been there.

How would he know where to find it?

More likely one of the family made away with it, wouldn't you think?

They're a rum lot by anybody's yardstick.

Oh, and Dr. deBryn called.

Wants you to drop by the mortuary.

That sudden of yours, Margaret Bell... ENDEAVOUR: Yes?

Interesting stomach contents.

One or two partially dissolved tablets.

Digoxin?

No.

These were of a bluish, purple-y hue.

Dye had leached into the lining of the gut, you see.

Do you feel all right?

You're not going to, uh... No.

I can get you a glass of water.

I'd sooner the point, if it's all the same to you.

The point is, I've just had the results back from the lab.

Drinamyl.

Amphetamine?

WALLACE: They're illegal, aren't they?

As of last year.

Unfortunately, that doesn't mean people have stopped taking them.

Not me.

I like a good drink, but that's where I draw the line.

Derek wouldn't get mixed up in anything like that, officer.

He's never been in any trouble.

He works hard.

Got a decent future ahead of him if he knuckles down.

Knuckles under, he means.

See what I mean?

Go and see to that tea.

No, don't trouble on my account, Mr. Clark.

Go on.

He not a bad lad.

Just... it's been hard on him since losing Ivy.

I promised her I'd do my best, but a boy needs his mother, all's said and done.

Where do you want it?

Just about bust a gut carting that thing.

What do you want with her typewriter, anyway?

Something I want to check.

ENDEAVOUR: It must be difficult typing all this yourself now?

What does that mean?

Up until the last two messages, the hate letters sent to Sir Edmund Sloan were written on a Remington model five.

Specifically, Margaret Bell's Remington model five.

What makes you think that?

The E key is misaligned.

I'd expect Sir Edmund's memoirs to show the same anomaly.

Did Margaret type the hate mail for you too?

Or just the memoirs?

Just the memoirs.

(exhales deeply) I tapped out the rest of the messages while she was taking a bath.

If I notify the college, you'll be sent down.

If?

You've worked hard.

Don't throw it away over nothing.

Nothing?

I'd thought maybe he felt some remorse, some prick of conscience.

But all the hair shirt and the mea culpa, it's just an act.

An act?

He's going to America.

America?

A fat chair at Stanford.

He's taking them all with him-- Helen, Dr. Cartwright, the kiddie.

Only the doc wasn't too keen, so far as I can make out.

Don't you get it?

They're paying him to come up with new ways of killing people, Morse.

My God!

Doesn't that matter to you?

Isn't it your job to catch murderers?

(bell rings) Daddy sent you to spy on me, did he?

No.

I just wanted to make sure that you were all right after yesterday.

(switches off music) What did they say about me?

Did they tell you I'd been put away?

That I'm a danger to Bobby?

I'm not.

That was the first turn I've had in over a year.

It was the shock hearing about Frank that way.

Is there anyone you can think of would want to do him any harm?

No, of course not.

He was... kindness itself.

If it hadn't been for Frank, I'd still be locked up.

You probably think I should be, after my last performance.

They can't keep you from your son.

You don't know my family.

I can see him.

Visit.

My son.

I have to pretend not to mind, not to make a fuss, or they'll put me back inside and I won't see him at all.

(sighs) At least I know he's just a bus ride away.

I suppose that's some comfort.

(sniffles) Will you take me to bed?

You don't need to buy me things or tell me you love me.

I just...

Please, just for a while?

I'm here in a position of trust.

Am I not your type?

Um...

I should go.

No!

Stay.

Please.

ENDEAVOUR: "She saw the helmet and the plume, "she looked down to Camelot.

"Up through the web and floated wide, "the mirror cracked from side to side.

'The curse has come upon me,' cried the Lady of Shallot."

(door closes) (mumbling to himself) Thank you very much.

I'll tell him.

STRANGE: "What power has a constable re a bookmaker's permit?"

ENDEAVOUR: He may... "He may demand production by the holder."

Relevant act?

Betting, Gaming and Lotteries Act, 1963.

Section two.

Come on, matey, these are the easy ones.

(sighs) Try another?

Oh, what's the point?

You're the one wanted testing.

I can't keep my mind on it.

Don't worry about this.

You'll get it.

Just gotta keep going over it and over it.

Till it sticks.

Same again?

Mmm.

♫♫ (door thuds) (door squeaks open) Oh... What did you find?

Amphetamines?

That sudden death-- Margaret Bell.

According to Dr.deBryn, her heart attack was most likely brought on by amphetamines.

THURSDAY: The Army gave us Benzedrine in the desert.

Meant to keep you alert.

Did they?

Funnily enough, I found the German 88s managed that quite nicely on their own.

There's a boy in the Margaret Bell case, sir, Derek Clark, works at the East Cowley Post Office.

Now, he denies it, but I'd be surprised if it wasn't him supplied Margaret.

You think this Clark boy had them off Cartwright?

I think it's a question well worth putting to him.

Maybe he panicked and killed Cartwright to cover his tracks.

(phone ringing in distance) Try the back.

(metal clangs) (door creaking) Mr. Clark?

Mr. Clark, can you hear me?

THURSDAY: Is he alive?

ENDEAVOUR: Mr. Clark?

Wallace Clark heard the break-in about quarter past nine and came downstairs to see what's what.

BRIGHT: Which is when they jumped him, presumably.

THURSDAY: The lad followed on and got the same treatment.

Much of a haul?

THURSDAY: Morse is over there now, sir, but first glance would appear about 800 in cash.

Plus whatever bunce in stamps, premium bonds, postal orders, tax discs.

BRIGHT: Three assailants, you say?

The wicked swines cut two of the old boy's fingers off to make him open the safe.

BRIGHT: Same as Kidlington and the rest.

How was it you came to be there?

THURSDAY: I know you've already spoken to DI Hillian from Robbery, Derek, but I need to ask you something else.

This amphetamine business.

On my father's life, sir.

I wouldn't have anything to do with that sort of thing.

ENDEAVOUR: You gave Margaret Bell amphetamines, supplied to you by Dr. Frank Cartwright.

Who's he?

Him.

He's been in the post office, but I don't know him.

Only to serve.

I didn't know his name was Cartwright.

But you did go back to Margaret Bell's room.

They were your cigarettes in the saucer on the sill.

It was just a bit of a kiss and a cuddle, sir.

She was fine when I left her; I swear.

Where were you Monday night?

I was working late at the shop, sir.

With Mr. Truby, the regional manager.

We were going through the quarterlies till gone midnight.

You can ask him, he'll tell you.

All right, Derek, we'll be in touch.

Frank's been ordering Drinamyl surplus to our regular requirements for the last six months.

There's no chance you could be mistaken here?

No, sir.

Dr. Cartwright's fingerprints were found on the package.

I can't believe it.

I mean Frank was...

It's just utterly out of character.

(phone rings) Yes.

Yes.

Yes, he is.

Thursday.

Uh-huh.

ENDEAVOUR: I wonder might you identify this handwriting, Dr. Prentice?

Um, which?

In the red.

THURSDAY (softly, on phone): When did it happen?

That's Frank's scrawl.

I'd know it a mile off.

It's even worse than mine.

Looks like he's jotted down a call-out.

Why?

THURSDAY (on phone): Both of them?

Just something I needed to clarify.

Thank you.

THURSDAY: We're on our way.

Thanks for your help, doctor.

We'll be in touch.

Morse.

JAKES: Sir.

Reverend Ranulf Monkford.

Been in the parish about five years.

Morse saw him yesterday.

It was his bike out at Godstow.

Who found him?

Housekeeper, sir, a Miss Scobie.

She arrived to find the vicarage had been turned over and Monkford missing.

I've taken a preliminary statement.

Not himself at all yesterday, she says.

Very distracted, kept going on about not talking.

THURSDAY: Not talking?

"Do not talk at meals.

Do not talk traveling."

There were more, but those were the ones Miss Scobie could remember.

Thank you, Mrs. Scobie.

Not been right for a couple of months, she says.

All off some young blokehe found kipping rough in the church porch.

How's that?

The reverend's put him up for the night.

Next morning, the blighter's cleaned him out.

Made off with his prized coin collection.

Killed between 8:00 and 11:00 last night.

Three shots.

Two in the back, which sent him off the ladder, followed by the coup de grace from close range.

THURSDAY: Same killer as Dr. Cartwright?

I prefer to leave speculation to the professionals.

Be able to speak to any firm similarities once I've completed the postmortem.

Looks like Morse was right about a clergyman, sir.

But not much else.

It transpires Dr. Cartwright's sister-in-law has a criminal record, as even the most cursory examination of her history would have revealed.

A juvenile assault upon some poor orderly at the sanatorium to which she was confined.

Bad?

She stabbed him in the groin.

But how bad it was is hardly the point.

It should have come to light.

I'll talk to him.

No.

He's had enough rope.

THURSDAY: Morse?

Someone was looking for something.

What if Reverend Monkford was lying about this bike being stolen?

Morse... What if he was there at Godstow and saw Dr. Cartwright's killer?

Then why didn't he come forward?

I don't know.

Maybe it was someone he knew.

What if he was trying to protect them?

What if he knew...?

Look, I can see you got the bit between your teeth, but there's been a development.

Let's get a drink.

ENDEAVOUR: It's not her.

Maybe, maybe not.

The point is, you should've checked.

I didn't need to.

Why?

Because she's a damsel in distress?

When it comes to a bird with a wing down, you've got a blind spot a mile wide.

It'll be your undoing.

There's a child in the middle of this being kept from his mother, in case anybody hadn't noticed!

If that's a blind spot, then so be it.

Derek Clark's lying, sir.

He's involved somehow.

I know he is.

Look, he might not have been entirely straight with us about this Margaret Bell girl, but at the time Monkford was being shot, Derek Clark was being trussed up and beaten senseless at the post office.

I don't know.

Well, I do.

You're being returned to General Duties for the present.

Where does this come from?

Bright?

Mr.

Bright.

No, it's my decision.

Best you hear it from me.

Six months' time?

A year?

Get through your exams, we can look again.

And meantime?

Learn your trade.

Thanks for the drink.

I'm a good detective.

And a poor policeman.

No one can teach you the first.

Any fool can learn the second.

PAMELA: I suppose I should have realized it wasn't a school.

Assaulted an orderly there.

There were some... nice ones.

And some not so nice.

A 15-year-old girl.

You can imagine.

If Frank hadn't come along and got me out when he did...

I found this the other evening.

Why was Dr. Cartwright writing to you?

You saw him often enough.

What was it that he had to put in a letter that he couldn't say to your face?

My colleagues are looking at you as a suspect for murder.

Do you understand that?

Now, I think they're wrong, but if I'm going to help you, you have to give me the truth.

Were you having an affair?

(gagging) Um, Pamela, Pamela, put your head back.

(doorbell rings) How is she?

She's asleep.

I've put her to bed.

It was good of you to call.

Did your husband see much of Pamela in London, Mrs. Cartwright?

I think I said.

Frank looked in on her to make sure she was taking her tablets.

They would have been close, then.

Close?

Yes, I suppose.

And more than close?

My God.

You people really are the living end.

I'm not even going to dignify so disgusting an insinuation with a response.

How does Pamela support herself?

My wife left a small annuity on her.

She has no other income?

No one else would send her money?

No other relative, or friend, perhaps?

Gerald's family, I suppose, her late husband... why do you ask?

Because I saw her cashing a postal order the other day.

But that's nothing you would've sent her?

No.

Certain of my colleagues are of the opinion that Pamela is somehow involved in the death of your husband and now that of Reverend Monkford.

Does that bother you at all?

Perhaps it would suit your plans?

(doorbell rings) What plans?

When did you intend to tell her you were leaving for the United States?

Or perhaps you didn't intend to tell her at all?

You are going to America, Sir Edmund?

PAMELA: Daddy?

Is it true?

Constable Morse is mistaken.

I have had an offer for Stanford, but I haven't accepted it.

You're lying.

THURSDAY: Don't you ever stop?

What's the matter with you?

You've been returned to General Duties.

What do you think you're about coming round here?

I think Pamela Waters was having an affair with her brother-in-law.

You do?

Then I'm obliged.

I just just going to question her in order to keep Mr.

Bright happy.

I couldn't think of a motive until now.

What motive?

Crime of passion.

Never mind it was her own brother-in-law she was carrying on with.

Well, by that token you should be talking to Mrs. Cartwright.

If you're looking for a motive.

Why not speak to her?

Jealousy.

Because she doesn't have a conviction for assault and a history of mental instability.

When you search the flat you're going to find a gun and some ammunition.

I will, will I?

What's that, Sir Edmund's missing revolver?

I would've thought so.

And just when were you thinking of mentioning that, exactly, if I hadn't come round?

Sir, I need to tell you about... No, sir, I don't want to hear it.

I'm warning you, Morse, for your own sake, stay out of this case-- I mean it!

But... You come within a mile, I'll see you out of the nick so fast your feet won't touch the floor.

(knocking at door) (door opens and closes) (footsteps approaching) Not looking too good, is it?

You won't get a match.

How about we let ballistics do their job?

ENDEAVOUR: She steals things.

I've seen her.

La gazza ladra.

The family's pet name for her as a child.

The Thieving Magpie.

It doesn't mean anything.

It means she's going away for life.

No alibi, Morse.

For Cartwright or the night Monkford died.

The old man's sweating her now.

Well, make sure he takes a look at her wrists, then.

Unless I'm much mistaken, she's already tried to kill herself once.

I imagine she took the gun intending to try again.

It's called reasonable doubt.

(to himself): Seven and six each week.

Morse!

Morse!

Morse!

Please don't let them take Bobby!

Get off me!

Go gently!

Morse!

No, get off!

MATRON: Now settle down.

PAMELA: Morse, did you hear me?!

Oi!

You're pinched, matey.

OFFICER: Turn to your left.

Constable Strange.

Nicked the gas meter man.

Better get counting.

Fair few shillings in there.

Police work, Morse.

It's not Gideon's Way, I know, but it's what gets 'em up the steps.

ENDEAVOUR: You'll be pleased to hear we arrested the man responsible for robbing your gas meter at home.

Right.

I didn't know it had been.

He was an impostor.

A thief.

Well, thanks very much.

ENDEAVOUR: But you see, amongst the spoils recovered from your meter were several rare coins, formerly in possession of Ranulf Monkford, vicar of St. Elegius.

A man offers you kindness, and that's how you repay him?

Kindness?

He found you sleeping rough in the church porch and took you in.

Well, he would say that, wouldn't he?

Easy money, rolling queers.

Give 'em the glad eye, find somewhere private and before anything happens... Bob's your uncle.

They're not exactly going to come running to you lot, are they?

Someone gave this place a good going over.

STRANGE: Do you think the boy who took the coins come back?

No, I'd say it was someone else.

I think they were looking for something specific.

Good God.

STRANGE: The Golf, Cheese and Chess Society?

What the bloody hell's that when it's at home?

Prior to the police, I served in the Signal Corps.

My instructor had worked at another facility during the war.

Home to the Golf, Cheese and Chess Society.

GC &CS-- the Government Code and Cipher School.

Monkford was a cryptographer.

A what?

A code breaker.

I told him I'd been in Signals.

I've been an idiot.

Have you?

Breadcrumbs... Breadcrumbs?

Yeah, when Hansel and Gretel went to the gingerbread house, they left a trail of breadcrumbs so that they could find their way home.

But what's "breadcrumbs"?

The answer to a crossword clue.

It's the last thing that Monkford said to me.

Breadcrumbs was his insurance in case something happened.

His way of letting me know he'd leave a message.

Morse!

I've just heard it on the bush telegraph.

The balloon's gone up.

Bright's on his way.

Morse!

Are you listening?

He finds you here, he'll be in his bloody element.

What did you say?

Perhaps you'd care to explain just what it is you're doing here?

I think I know who killed Cartwright and Monkford, sir.

Think or know?

Know.

What's this?

More threadbare legerdemain?

Might as well hear him out, sir.

BRIGHT: But we're about to charge Pamela Waters, aren't we?

Every Friday Dr. Cartwright went to the East Cowley post office and had a postal order made out to the sum of ten shillings.

Every Monday that order was cashed by Pamela Sloan.

BRIGHT: Why would it matter if he was sending money to his sister-in-law?

Thank you.

Three years ago, Pamela Sloan attempted suicide.

Frank Cartwright had been keeping an eye on her since she moved to London.

He found her in the nick of time.

Pamela, no!

His own marriage failing, Cartwright understood Pamela's desperation all too well.

(thunder) Two lonely people in a big city far from home, they looked to one another for companionship.

And comfort.

He got her pregnant.

I spoke to the National Registry first thing.

There was a man called Gerald Waters who worked at ICI and he did die in a car crash.

But there was no whirlwind romance with Pamela Sloan.

No marriage.

For two years, they kept their affair secret.

Pamela passed herself off as a young widow and collected Cartwright's weekly postal order.

Thank you.

You're welcome.

Eventually, someone realized that Dr. Cartwright was sending money to a woman who was not his wife.

They fired a shot into the dark and hit the bull's-eye.

The sender threatened to reveal what he knew to Cartwright's wife and sought to turn it to their own advantage.

Cartwright paid off the extortioner with a regular delivery of amphetamines.

And the Reverend Monkford?

How do you explain his involvement?

ENDEAVOUR: He came upon Dr. Cartwright's killer at the scene.

Unfortunately, the murderer also recognized the Reverend Monkford.

You might find this compelling, Thursday, but so far it seems to me nothing but surmise and rank flummery.

If he knew who the killer was, why didn't he just come forward?

And explain what he was doing cycling to a public convenience miles from his parish at 10:00 on a summer's evening?

You can prove none of it.

Actually, sir, I believe I can.

What are you going to do?

Produce some eyewitness from thin air?

As a matter of fact, sir, we do have a witness.

The Reverend Monkford.

Shall I send back to the station for a Ouija board?

All right, Jakes.

He's left us a message.

It's been staring us in the face all along.

What message?

Hymn numbers?

ENDEAVOUR: Actually, sir, that's the last thing they are.

First time I saw it, I thought it odd to have 17, 18 and 19 following on like that.

The last time I saw Monkford, he hinted he intended to leave a message, something that might speak for him.

Even if he wrote down what he knew and hid it somewhere at home, it might be found.

And someone did search the vicarage the night he was killed, looking for exactly that.

Fearful for his life and afraid the truth would die with him, Monkford concealed the killer's identity in the hymn numbers.

Concealed?

I've since found out that Monkford worked in ciphers during the war.

You saying these hymn numbers are some sort of code?

Exactly, sir.

Only I couldn't find the key until now.

Actually, it was Strange hit upon the answer.

Before taking the cloth, the Reverend Monkford read chemistry at Beaufort College.

You'll find a copy of the periodic table hanging in his home.

Isn't that a list of the elements-- hydrogen...?

Yes, of course.

Strange, there's a blackboard there.

Could you... Each element is assigned a symbol, typically an abbreviation of its name, together with a unique one- or two-digit atomic number.

Can you write these down as I call them off?

So, 74 gives us tungsten.

17, chlorine.

ENDEAVOUR: 18, argon.

19, potassium.

The elements spell out a name.

T-C-A-P... TCAP?

No.

No, not quite, sir.

But you're on the right lines.

The chemical symbol for tungsten isn't Tu, as you might expect, it's W, from the German Wolframite.

And potassium isn't P, as you might expect, but K, after the Latin kalium.

Taken together, they're tungsten... chlorine... argon... and potassium.

W-C-L-A-R-K. Wallace Clark.

Good grief.

Derek's father?

But there's nothing to say he even knew the vicar.

Ivy Clark, sir, Wallace's wife, is buried in the churchyard, next plot but one to Lady Daphne Sloan.

The Reverend Monkford performed the service.

Bloody hell, matey.

That's...

Elementary.

WALLACE: I promised Ivy I'd take care of Derek, keep him on the straight.

Derek knew the ropes,Wallace.

Even if we had pinched him on the amphetamines, the worst he'd have got was bound over and a fine of ten knicker.

Now he's looking at life, and so are you.

I was just going to talk to Cartwright, tell him to leave Derek alone.

Only it was him, wasn't it?

Come in asking about this dead girl.

She'd taken 'em before.

No problem, I swear.

Only this time... it happened so quickly.

There was nothing I could do.

Girls turning up dead.

Police poking around.

I couldn't risk Cartwright getting a conscience.

What if he come to you?

But Cartwright didn't know who was blackmailing him.

It was a blind drop.

He couldn't have told us it was Derek he was supplying because he didn't know.

I couldn't take the risk.

Where's the gun, Wallace?

In the attic.

Souvenir from my Home Guard days.

You knew where you stood then.

And the break-in, the night Monkford died?

Hell of a way to give yourself an alibi.

So we did the place over, made it look like robbery.

Give him an alibi.

For the vicar.

He gave Ivy a lovely send-off.

(sighs) But he'd seen me.

There was nothing for it.

He only did any of it to keep me out of trouble.

(crying): He never had much time for the shop.

Where's Sir Edmund, sir?

Just through there, sir.

I've decided to accept the chair of physics at Stanford.

We'll be leaving after Frank's funeral.

Helen will be joining me.

And Bobby?

He belongs with me.

He belongs with his mother.

You've no right to keep him from her.

He's... all I've got.

Plea...

I love him every bit as much as she does, as if he were my own.

But he's not.

That's not fair!

Why... Why can Pamela have a child and... with all that's wrong with her.

Please, it's not fair.

I've issued an alert to ports and airports.

If you try to leave the country with him, you will be arrested.

You can't do that.

Mmm, there are charges I could bring against you.

What charges?

I'm his grandfather.

But not his mother.

"It is felony to unlawfully detain any child "under the age of 14, "with intent to deprive the parent of the possession of such child."

Offenses against the Person Act, 1861.

Section 56.

What will you do?

Find somewhere.

Far away.

Beyond their reach.

Now I've got Bobby back, I won't do anything silly again.

Thank you.

We'll manage.

You mustn't worry.

(bus engine starts up) I did love him.

Frank.

That's what matters, isn't it?

It's all that matters.

Thank you.

I heard she was leaving town.

That's a good thing you've done there, Morse.

I hope so.

Run you back to the station?

Thanks, but I've got to get to court.

The gas meter committal.

That's today, is it?

Mmm, this afternoon.

I want to help Strange make sure the case papers are in order.

Police work.

Well, I'll see you back at the nick, then.

CUMMING: Next time... MAX: Strangulation, almost textbook.

Delirium, madness... JAKES: Looks like you got an admirer.

MAX: Highly toxic... THURSDAY: What's he after?

ENDEAVOUR: It's a game-- solve the puzzle, save the child.

We've less than 12 hours to find her.

CUMMING: "Endeavour,"next time on Masterpiece Mystery!

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