Here we go, my angel.
- It's too strong again. - The stronger the better.
I can't seem to wake up these mornings.
Anyone who's had a coronary bypass and a leg bitten off by a crocodile
is allowed to feel a bit wobbly first thing.
You're here to convalesce, Kathleen. Don't fight it.
How was your post? Anything on that calendar in...? Where was it?
Hawaii? Didn't get it.
They're a bugger to photograph, waterfalls. Will not keep still.
- Here we are. A nice cup of mud. - Thank you.
Christine. All done for the day?
Yeah. I'd better shift myself, I suppose. Get sir's lunch on.
How's your house guest? On the mend?
Constitution of an ox - Kathleen.
She'll see us all off.
Good morning. Got room for me to squeeze my bottom in?
- Unless you want to squeeze it for me, Tom? - I don't think so.
What's got their goat?
It's not exactly the parish newsletter.
Are people full of crap round here or what?!
Like I'm supposed to feel bad for having a bit of fun in my life?
And don't tell me they're not gagging for all the tasty details.
The way I see it, God gave me a beautiful body.
And he gave it to me for a reason. To bring people pleasure.
Which you did on a very regular basis.
I don't see any reason to be ashamed of it and I'm not going to apologise for it.
Repent, you harlot! Or be damned for eternity!
All right, Mrs Gibson! We don't need any of that talk.
The things people get off on. Did you read this tosh?
"When making love, a well-known MP could only achieve a climax
"if I dressed as a traffic warden and stuck these penalty notices to his glasses."
Good thing he didn't ask to be clamped.
A bloke I went out with got turned on by women in quicksand.
Weird or what? Apparently, it's a recognised fetish, with websites and everything.
He had the nerve to ask me if I'd get into a bath full of Ready Brek!
I mean, do me a favour. And listen to this.
"On our first night, he warned me that he'd got a dicky heart.
- "He'd certainly got a hearty d... " - Look!
I can't do this if you're just going to keep gabbling away like Ena Sharples!
I can't do it anyway. This whole thing was a hideous mistake. Where are my socks?
Come on. I thought we'd made a breakthrough here.
Like we'd agreed. We were just going to go for it.
Stop dithering about, dive in and see what happens.
It's hard to rise to the occasion when you lie there guzzling Curly Wurlies.
- Talk about Bessie Bunter. - Pardon? One single Curly Wurly.
Yes, all right.
So I get hungry in the night.
It's half past three! Which is another thing.
Not a good time for me. Bad for my cicadian rhythms.
So I'm just left here high and dry, am I?
What a surprise.
I don't know. You may be right. Probably is the worst thing we could ever do.
- Exactly. - What do you mean?
It's the meeting of minds that's important, isn't it?
Of all the people you'd have sex with, how many would you want to have a coffee with?
It's much rarer to find someone...
- What the hell is this? - I've been meaning to mention that.
"Delighted to hear you'll both be joining us
"for our 17th annual Mystery Writers' Convention on June 25th
"at the Trench View Hotel, Rigglesworth... " That's Thursday.
"You'll meet members of the Jonathan Creek Fan Club, who are all thrilled to bits... "
Jonathan Creek Fan Club? This is a wind up.
No. It'll be brilliant.
There'll be all sorts of people there. Danny de Vito.
He's filming at Elstree, says he's going to pop by to present an award.
It'll be a real blast. There's all kinds of aficionados out there we don't know about.
That's what worries me.
Thanks for doing the potatoes! That's been a big help.
What have you been so engrossed in all morning?
- As if I need to ask. - Sorry?
Come on. You know full well it's the convention on Thursday.
I'll look a right prat if I haven't got any intelligent questions to ask.
We don't want you looking like a prat, Jeff!
Why did you have to pick that creep as a role model?
You don't even know his name. It's Creek.
Because he's cerebral, he thinks.
He uses logic like a laser to rationalise the irrational,
explain the most inexplicable mysteries known to man.
That'll be a handy talent to have round here, where nothing mysterious ever happens!
Now, do something useful and pick up this potato peeler.
Do I really deserve it, Rupert? All this poison?
Darling, it's no more or less than the truth.
People should be prepared to stand up for their indiscretions.
I can always rely on you to say the right thing.
Perhaps I should give this lawn a quick trim.
- Morning. - Good morning.
- Got a couple of late ones for you. - Splendid.
And I'll need a signature on this one.
Oh, my God!
Jacqui! Jacqui!
Welcome to our 17th Mystery Writers' Convention.
- Hey, Danny de Vito! What did I tell you? - Where?
- Over there. - Wait a minute.
- Wait... - Mr Creek.
We're so glad to see you and Miss Magellan. Daphne Bywater. Your group are over here.
All ready and waiting.
They've got masses to ask you about your cases.
For me, I've got to say, the classic locked room was Jack Holiday in the bunker.
My only problem, if Rokesmith so mured himself with all the tools and rubble,
how come he misses the cotton wool?
Good point.
Unless it's like some deeper instinct.
Rokesmith's id wanted to leave a clue behind to see if anyone could work it out.
To show us all how clever he'd been.
Right.
The old telltale id. You may just have cracked it there, Colin.
- We'd better wind things up. - Unless you have more questions?
I'm going to get you for this.
Four hours in a wigwam with a bunch of sad acts who know more about me than I do.
Two live in windmills. It's one step away from Travis Bickle in "Taxi Driver"!
Don't blame me if it ends up in a bloodbath.
DannyI DannyI
OK. 30 seconds, everybody, before we get back to our seats.
A late arrival.
Jonathan, hi. Oh, man, fantastic.
Jeff Torrance. Huge, huge fan. How are you doing?
Wow.
Sorry I didn't make it before, but...
This is the weirdest, weirdest thing.
Before I came out, something just happened where I live...
Maybe this is fate or something...
- Maybe it is. - Sorry?
Do you believe it's possible for someone on the verge of death
to leave their own body and appear in another place?
So how do we explain the fact that a woman who was in hospital, in a coma,
with half her face burnt off,
was seen walking down the road last night, totally unscathed, on her way to church?
OK. I think we're all ready for you again, so...
Actually, bit of a bummer, something's just come up and we've got to dash.
- Yes, it's a... - Big, big mystery.
- Baffling beyond belief, actually. - Got to snap into action.
Nice meeting you all.
- Where are we going? - Linnet's Hill.
- You can follow me back. - We came on the train.
No problem. I'll give you a lift.
- Back already? - Promise not to faint.
- Told them about Jacqui. - Oh, right.
- Why you do what you do is beyond me. - Sorry?
Dress up as a person you've never even met. Look at you.
You even grow your hair like the guy.
Christine...
This is...
- Oh. - I know what you mean.
I don't know if you've caught any of this Jacqui Jordan stuff in the press.
"The night I was spanked by an Arsenal striker"? Was she a model in the '70s?
And professional bed hopper before she settled down here as the country wife.
Nobody deserved that. I was there when it exploded. It was like her face was on fire.
- Then today I was round at Vince's... - In Crooked Lane.
He's got this friend staying who's a British Mother Theresa.
Got to be in her 70s, but still sharp as a needle.
That's why it's so spooky. She's the last person who'd ever make a thing like this up.
She says that at 7.30 last night, when Jacqui was in hospital, in intensive care,
she had a conversation with her in the garden.
40 years of Christian aid work around the world, I've seen my share of spells and sorcery,
but nothing quite like this.
I remember a witch doctor in Bali,
he said he could make a volcano erupt by rubbing a snake.
When he took me in his hut to show me how...
Yes. You've done the rounds since we first met a hundred years ago,
when I was a cameraman in telly.
My first documentary was about this lady's work. We've been chums ever since.
After her operation, I thought a few weeks in the country might perk her up.
Yesterday was the first time we tried outside for some fresh air.
I was nagged, to be honest.
Just lying here all day with my books and my music has been bliss.
Pottering away at the old memoirs. And then, at six o'clock, in he comes.
Time to stir your stumps, - or in my case, stump - and have tea in the front garden.
It was a rather nice summer's evening.
Quite cool and refreshing and just what I needed to liven myself up.
Till that wretched wasp came along.
Ow!
It's OK. I've got some stuff inside. Usually does the trick.
Hi.
You must be Vince's...
You once worked as a missionary or something?
Or something. Kathleen Gilmore.
- Sorry, I can't get up... - No, no.
- I'm Jacqui. - It's nice to meet you, Jacqui.
Come and have some lemon squash.
I suppose you haven't heard what they're all calling me round here
since I sold my story to the papers?
- Cheesy flake? - Sorry? Oh...
Quite right. Horrid things.
Why, what have you been up to that's so terrible?
Let me see if I can guess.
Like a lot of young women, you've used your looks to get ahead in life
and didn't care too much who you hurt along the way.
And now, finally...
you're feeling some of their pain.
I've lived in this village seven years...
and never once set foot inside the church.
I don't know...
I just wondered...
today whether...
.. but maybe it's already too late.
What? You think God's got to rush off somewhere?
If you've got something to say...
I promise you, he's ready to listen.
From where I was sitting, I had a perfect view of the church clock.
I glanced at it as she left.
It was just coming up to 7.40pm.
That's where it's all shot to high heaven,
because Jacqui had been in a coma since lunchtime, when the lawnmower went up.
I spoke to Rupert this afternoon. There's no change. She's still critical.
- Rupert? - Bless him, the old darling.
He absolutely worshipped her.
What she saw, God only knows. It's like my missus.
PhD in Medieval History and she runs off with a man who makes balloon animals.
The guts are just suddenly ripped out of your life.
I suppose you just have to find a way of dealing with it.
And this happened where exactly?
You can't see it from there. That's the wild bit.
It's on the front lawn, next to the lane.
And she had the same clothes on she went to hospital in? They weren't burnt or...?
The only thing I did notice -
the bottoms of her trousers were a bit damp.
- Damp how far up? - A few inches.
I don't know. Perhaps it's me...
my faith that's being tested here.
Whether she was flesh and blood or something else...
I know I didn't dream it.
This woman was out there in the garden yesterday evening.
Where do you pick holes in this? The witness appears to be pathologically honest.
- It doesn't add up. - If we look at prima facie evidence.
What if we run with a more lateral hypothesis?
That the woman in hospital behind those bandages is not Jacqui Jordan at all...
- but someone else. - How do you get that?
OK.
This is the shed, right... she went into...
when you arrived with the mail.
Given that you and Rupert were both here when the fire start... Yeah?
Why am I delivering a letter to Clement Attlee?
Because I didn't have a photo of Rupert.
It's purely representational, OK?
Can I continue?
By my reckoning, we have a blind area here
where she could just have got away out of the garden without being seen.
Sorry, Jeff, you're racing ahead of me.
- She's got an almost identical woman... - Right.
.. same build, same hair, same clothes...
- Right. - .. to swap places with her in the shed...
For what reason exactly?
She normally get a stunt double to cut the grass?
I think we've got doppelgangers on the brain.
Well, it's obviously not going to get solved in five minutes, so...
What do you say we put you up for the night? You can come back to it in the morning.
We've got a spare double bed, so no problem with the sleeping arrangements.
- I see what you mean about the Last Supper. - You don't know the half of it.
It's an obsession.
Not that I've got anything against Jonathan.
When you get to meet the genuine article, he's actually quite er...
- I know. - Oh.
I didn't do the wrong thing last night? I assumed you two were like...
Batman and Robin? Yes, that's about right.
Morning. You're not hanging about, then?
Such a dirty trick. Sleep with someone then piss off first thing.
So, what's our plan of campaign today?
I suppose we'd better check out the husband. Rupert?
While you're there, get him to show you his magazines.
What magazines?
At the last count, it was running well into 30,000.
From 1970, I have every major British title -
"Mayfair", "Hustler", "Carnival", "Nugget" and so on. All mint.
"American Glamour" is all on this wall here.
This is an extremely rare "Hot Jugs and Hooters" from the American Bible Belt.
Cancelled after one issue. Most copies were burned.
Amazing. I won't ask what's on the top shelf.
I have complete runs of all the late '50s, '60s collectibles.
"Snip Snap", "Swank", "Spanky", "Tip Top", "Hotspot", "Nylon Jungle".
"Flirt and Squirt". That brings back memories.
- "Flirt and Skirt". - Oh, yes. Sorry.
Thinking of another publication entirely.
So there you were one day cataloguing one of these for your collection and...
She was, quite simply, the most perfect being I'd ever set eyes on.
The sort of woman you want to take away...
- I get the picture. - .. and capture in oil.
Though I doubt if David or even Anguier could have done her justice.
I never deluded myself that she married me for anything other than my money.
It didn't matter.
To me, she is the most precious and irreplaceable part of my life.
Like a diamond -
that may be flawed, but will always be a diamond.
- Odd how much he looks like Jeffrey. - Isn't it?
Mr Clifford-Wright, I don't think any of us are in any doubt it was your wife, but...
None whatsoever. I've not met this friend of Vincent's,
but she's either mistaken or playing a very cruel joke on us all.
Excuse me.
- What have you found? - God, Jeff! You'll give me a heart attack.
I found exactly what I expected to find.
- Brilliant! What? - Nothing.
There's nothing dodgy about this shed.
I'm afraid your notion of pulling a switch doesn't cut it on any level.
If she wanted us to think she'd been injured, dupe someone to take her place,
how could she guarantee that person would be burnt beyond recognition? It's too messy.
It couldn't have been the same woman both times. That'd be some trick.
She wasn't the cleverest person in the world.
- No... But maybe she didn't need to be. - Say again?
If I was to suddenly disappear now, right here in this garden...
would you call that a clever trick?
- Come on! - OK.
Close your eyes and count to three quickly.
One, two, three.
Oh, hey.
This is just...
Out of academic interest, have you got one of women in quicksand? I knew this bl...
Oh, God.
- I'm so sorry. - Well, now I don't know what to think.
You read about these things, don't you?
I'm sure there was remorse there...
for the way she lived her life.
In her eyes, you could tell.
That last day in the garden...
Is it too fanciful to believe she made her peace with God...
before she...
Where to now?
- To the stile. - Why?
To check something out and get away from Jonathan Creek wannabes.
Neat little idea he had there, but I take it from that scowl you weren't impressed.
So if we're saying that accident was completely pukka -
no doubles, twins or stand-ins -
we have to take the old dear's story with a pinch of salt.
Yet she seemed so convincing.
Therein lies the key to the whole deception.
- Obviously she's lying. - Obviously she isn't.
How did you describe her? Pathologically honest?
Everything she tells us we have to take as gospel.
The fact that Kathleen Gilmore is such a squeaky-clean, reliable witness
is the one thing that's too convenient here.
Oh, right! I think I'm beginning... to not understand a word you're saying.
Yes. Well, these things are all very well in theory,
but a bit pointless without evidence, so I have to...
Doesn't he ever go away?
I've booked us both in for panto - "Puss in Boots" - this Christmas.
- What? - "He's behind you!"
Sorry. Bit slow on the uptake back there.
How did you get here before us?
You could have just cut across the field.
OK, how about this? It was Jacqui they took to the hospital, but she wasn't burned.
She protected herself, pretended to go into a coma, so she could slip out later on...
Yes. The problem with that theory is the hospital just called to say she'd died
without ever regaining consciousness.
You're serious?
What are we looking at? Some kind of intricately plotted murder?
Intricately plotted and so brilliantly executed it almost came off.
The clue to it all, I've got a shrewd idea, could well lay in this garden.
No problems. I saw Vince go out with his camera a minute ago.
If you want to sniff around, I'll keep an eye out.
Right. Why don't you do that.
I suppose it's pointless to ask what we're looking for?
Mmm.
Ah.
Ah ha.
- What have we here? - Looks like a tyre track.
- From a bicycle? - Utterly ingenious.
No two ways about it.
Sorry. Couldn't resist.
Any joy? Managed to nail the culprit?
- Actually, Jeff... - Jeffrey!
What the hell are you playing at, snooping around someone else's garden?
Hi. What's going on?
Not a lot. We were just leaving.
Really? You mean leave the village? Going where?
Good question. Scotland Yard probably. Shed some light on this murder.
Murder? Who's been murdered?
At this moment, I haven't the faintest idea, but we'll keep you posted.
DCI Horner. Hello. So, what's the story here?
You've got a murderer, but you don't know the victim?
Correct. But we've got a good idea when the crime took place.
Between 7pm and 8pm on Wednesday 24th June.
Bear with me two seconds.
Anthony James Feldman. Age 37.
Shot through the temple at his home in Battersea.
His girlfriend found him in the sitting-room.
This was wrapped round his head.
- It's empty. - Look inside.
Hmm. Weird.
I suppose you know what this is without looking?
I've got a pretty good idea.
- I said things would be hotting up here. - What are you on about?
Two cop cars, heading for Crooked Lane if I'm any judge.
And I think I saw JC in the back. This is something I'm not going to miss.
What can you see?
- Great, the main man's here. We can begin. - Sorry?
This is known in mystery writer's parlance as the "wrap-up".
Where you use your logic like a laser to explain how the whole thing was done.
- Well, I... - Sit down.
Your friend was just about to enlighten us.
OK. Prima facie, as you said, what are we looking at here?
A woman's rushed to hospital with terrible burns,
goes into a coma from which she never recovers.
But as she's lying on life-support, she manages to materialise outside this house
on her way to church to atone for her sins.
An out-of-body experience?
Or a fantastically-conceived sham...
engineered by someone for reasons that had nothing to do with Jacqui Jordan.
It's not that you were short on technique, Jeff,
but you were looking for the secret of this trick in the wrong garden.
When you told us you'd seen her, we believed every word.
If we couldn't rely on Kathleen Gilmore, who could we rely on?
But maybe that was the point.
And then last night, suddenly, it just came in...
almost literally, through the curtains -
a glimmer of what all this was about.
The wet trousers, that long groove in the soil,
the contents of that apparently empty box...
all came down in the end to one fairly chilling proposition.
Suppose you weren't brought to this house
out of the goodness of someone's heart to recuperate,
but were quite cold-bloodedly set up
to provide an alibi for someone about to commit a murder?
You can't be... What on earth are you trying to say?
Oh, shit.
Life isn't fair, Vince, but rubbing out the man who stole your wife doesn't help.
Like my missus.
PhD in Medieval History, runs off with a man who makes balloon animals.
The guts are ripped out of your life.
I suppose you just have to find a way of dealing with it.
You weren't talking about Rupert and his loss.
You were talking about your life.
And you'd found a way, hadn't you, Vince, to deal with that?
As we now know, you arrived at Feldman's home at about 7.30pm,
knowing his partner would be out until 8pm at an evening class.
One of the more bizarre items we've dusted for fingerprints. Of course, it was clean.
You'd done more than cover your tracks there.
If the coppers ever called round here - if rather than when -
you'd have an unimpeachable witness
who'd swear you were in the garden drinking lemon squash.
What she couldn't know was that when you were both having tea,
it wasn't 7.30 in the evening, but 7.30 in the morning.
For goodness' sake. You think I don't know what time of day it was?
- I'd been awake since breakfast... - I said it was cold-blooded, Miss Gilmore.
Think about it for a sec. For two weeks, you've been pretty immobile -
in a room, in a bed, unable to move.
Your whole concept of time is up for grabs.
Watches and clocks are easily fixed.
For a former lighting cameraman, with access to a few lamps and a bit of scaffolding...
the daylight coming through net curtains can be very carefully regulated.
The trees at the side made a perfect screen for all the hardware.
It's a trick that's worked all the time in TVand movies.
Filming day for night and night for day is put to more cynical use...
to shield the identity of a murderer.
Vince... Tell me this is so much drivel.
Every morning I'd shift forward one hour,
so by Wednesday, we'd be exactly 12 hours ahead.
Your body's telling you something isn't quite right with...
- What is it? - Cicadian rhythms.
Like a bad case of jet lag.
But that was the least of it after all you'd been through.
So on Wednesday morning, she's been awake all night. To her, it's now teatime.
So you settle her outside. If the wasp hadn't sent you indoors,
the conversation with Jacqui might never have happened.
Then it's her next bedtime.
Did you slip her some sedatives so she slept through?
Now it's Thursday, you're back on real time.
Feel a bit grotty, but no idea why.
By this time, the gear's all been de-rigged outside,
leaving no clue as to what's happened.
Except for a few ruts where your power cable's been lying.
So she'd already been there... to church, that morning.
Before you were even up probably.
Oh, Rupert, mate... I'm sorry you had to get tangled up in all...
That wasn't the idea. You can see that?
I think I'll go now. If you'll excuse me.
Yes. And we should be making a move. Mr Rees?
Oh, Kathleen...
Why do we do it?
God only knows, Vincent.
And I still couldn't see it.
Why couldn't I see that? Damp trouser bottoms.
Obviously from the dew on the grass.
I mean, that is star quality.
So, listen, going to stay over again tonight?
We thought we'd grab a bed at the hotel this time, actually, Jeff.
Thanks all the same.
It's a fascinating process to behold.
He takes it all in and lets it brew,
then you get this slow drip of realisation as it all fits together.
Yeah. Talking of slow drips.
He's going to get his marching orders soon because it's like...
- Now you've seen the real thing? - There's no comparison.
Oh, God, I would swim through treacle.
- He is technically available. - For the right soulmate.
Of course, he's not exactly a pushover.
But if you want to know what really turns him on...
Well, we finally did it.
- Yup. - We won't be doing it again.
Probably not.
It was like... Making love to your favourite uncle.
- Which you should never do. - Not without consulting your auntie.
- Though we were both very tired. - We were.
Funnily enough... I'm not now.
No? Well, I supp...
Hello? Yes.
No.
No, that'd...
OK. Ten minutes.
Christine...
needs to see me urgently.
It's OK. I'm up here! Come in!
- Oh, you are kidding. - Jonathan, hi.
Christine?
What the hell are you doing back? You're supposed to be at Tesco's!
Oh, you sick bastard!
I was trying to do you a favour.
I thought she'd be so repulsed that...
Anyway, it's perked up their relationship.
She'll see him in a more assertive light now, finally.
Look, Jonathan... apropos of last night, I was thinking.
Depending on how you're fixed, when we get back to town,
we could maybe invest in a few bottles of wine tonight.
Batten down the hatches and... Who knows?
This time we might just...
But you can't expect miracles.