Ladies and gentlemen, let us say grace.
Benedic nobis deus omnipotens,
Et his donis,
Quae ex liberalitate tua sumpturi sumus,
Amen.
Good night, gentlemen. Thank you very much for coming.
Mr Linn, you don't know me.
My name is Fury.
I'm a freelance journalist and I've been
talking to a Son Of The Twice Born.
If you'd like to know what he had to say about that little group,
call when you've returned from High Table.
Say, nine this evening.
The number's 993-817.
Hello?
This is Sefton. What's this all about?
He's dying? What do you mean, he's dying?
To be honest, it's not where you want to be on a Tuesday.
Bloody kids!
Come on, you little scumbags.
- Oof!
There's a stack of courses to choose from.
I know.
- Human geography? - Nah. I've looked at that.
Understanding the physical and human environment, and means of improving it.
And?
I'm a copper. I'm already doing all that.
Well, there's no great mystery.
Clubbed to death with a blunt instrument.
Any idea why?
Normal body temperature minus measured body temperature divided by 1.5 says,
some time between ten and 12.
It was certainly after dark.
How do you know?
There was a flash torch lying beneath the body.
Who am I looking for?
Definitely somebody with blood on their clothes or their person.
Thanks, Doctor.
One contact book. One wallet containing pawn ticket dated the day before yesterday.
One London to Oxford rail ticket return.
One pair of glasses and that's it.
Nothing to ID him, no cash, nothing of any value.
Oh, there was a white band on his wrist from wearing a watch, but no watch.
Well, he won't be needing one now.
Nothing like a bit of gallows humour to kick-start the day, eh, sir?
Know anything about painting?
A bit.
Enough to tell good from bad.
And?
And I refuse to speak ill of the dead.
Thank God for that.
I thought maybe I was missing something.
What are all these little marks?
That's never a signature, surely?
Well, it's in the right place.
I recognise some of those characters. It's Ancient Greek.
What's the betting he's an Oxford man?
Engine oil, sir. Pretty fresh.
There can't be many cars pass through here.
Or buses for that matter.
So how did he get here, then?
As far as we know, he didn't drive
and I doubt very much whether he walked all the way from the railway station.
Hitched a lift?
Or ordered a taxi?
If he did that, maybe the cabby can remember him.
I called the pawnbroker in London.
The dead man's name was Dean Greely. He lived in Bayswater.
What did he pawn?
Interesting, that. A gent's ring, solid gold.
He'd hocked it a few times before, but always redeemed it.
Then two days ago, they gave him a couple of hundred on it. By today, he had nothing.
And we think his watch is missing as well.
Killed for a watch and a few hundred pounds? Let's hope not.
Do we have a murder weapon?
- Not yet.
The driver from City Cabs definitely remembers dropping Greely at the narrow boat.
And when she gets back to the station, her next fare's a woman.
The woman wants to know where Greely had been dropped.
Well, where was she dropped - this woman?
Cheap B&B, but when I phone there, they say she's left.
- Moved here. - Big step up from a B&B.
Must have come into some money.
Do you have an Ingrid Nielson here?
I asked where the previous fare had been dropped
because the previous fare was Dean Greely,
my partner in life for the last 20 years and more.
Your husband.
Well, we never got round to the marriage thing.
Miss Nielson...
..Dean Greely was murdered last night.
What?
How?
He was attacked.
We won't have the details until the postmortem's completed.
I thought you might be here about...
..the money and the watch.
- What about the money and the watch? - Well, I went out there last night.
He wasn't there.
The door was open, but nobody, you know...
And what then?
His watch was lying on the table.
Anyway, I picked it up and took what money I found in his wallet and left.
When you showed up, I thought...
.."The damn fool thinks he's been robbed."
Maybe we should go and talk some more down at the police station.
A suspect! That's what I like to hear.
Not a suspect?
I want to hold her until we check her clothes for blood, but I don't think she's the one.
If she killed Greely, why hang around in Oxford?
♪ Und Macheath der hat ein Messer...
Miss Nielson was just telling me that she's a tribute artist.
I also act.
Strictly avant-garde.
Experimental.
Why did you ask the taxi driver where Mr Greely had been dropped?
I wanted to make sure that's where he'd be.
Why would he lie about where he was going?
A woman phoned.
Wouldn't give her name. Said she wanted to speak to Dean.
I told her she should call back.
- And did she? - I don't know.
But the next thing is, Deano's off to Oxford.
Said it was at the behest of an old student pal.
So you followed him to Oxford,
made sure that he was on the boat,
booked yourself in a B&B, with what intention?
Of going back out there and catching them in flagrante.
He seems to have used Ancient Greek to sign his pictures. Why was that?
A hangover from his Oxford days.
We met at Oxford, you know.
Constable, Miss Nielson's clothes, please.
- I can go? - For the moment.
We've got nothing to hold you on.
This old student pal who might have phoned and got Greely up here - any joy?
Well, I called every number in Greely's contact book,
but none of them went to Oxford with him.
There is still this entry, however.
But he's using Ancient Greek again.
- Why did he do that? - I don't know.
I did some Greek as part of the theology course.
If I'm right, then this heading reads, "The Sons Of The Twice Born."
Which would be a reference to the Greek god Dionysus.
Twice Born?
Yeah. The gods had a falling out
and the expectant mother of Dionysus perished.
Zeus took the foetus, sewed it into his thigh,
and then some time later Dionysus was born for the second time.
Right. Course he was.
What about these three lines here?
I don't know.
Just random letters.
It could be a code maybe.
I know someone that can help.
Professor Gold.
Detective Inspector Lewis, Sergeant Hathaway.
- May we have a word? - Please.
I'm sure we've met, haven't we?
Or in another life perhaps.
No, this one, but it was a long time ago.
It's your lovely accent.
We were wondering if you could translate something for us.
I've managed to translate some of it,
but these three lines, well, they're all Greek to me.
- You're a scholar. HATHAWAY: Yes.
Cambridge?
- What makes you ask that? - It would explain your limitations.
Ah, let me see.
Oh, of course. Three sets of alphabetic numbers.
Quite common in the Hellenistic period,
having displaced the acrophonic system.
Numbers?
Telephone numbers, actually.
How do you know that?
Because they all start with the Oxford area dialling code.
Telephone numbers. How didn't YOU see that?
Cambridge, eh?
What do they teach them there?
Well, thanks for your time, Professor.
You were with Morse when we last met.
That's right, ma'am.
Shame about that - Morse.
Had his querulous side, of course.
But we're none of us perfect.
No. No, we're not.
Drop me back at the station and get down to the telephone exchange.
I want names to go with all these numbers.
If one of them did get Greely up here, I want to know which one and why.
Well? - Got 'em all.
I checked out all three names to see if we had them on file.
First up is Harry Bundrick. The number I was given
was for Bundrick's Bicycle Shop in town.
And?
In 1984, Mr Bundrick was cautioned for kerb-crawling.
On one of his bikes? Go on.
Next up, Dr Sefton Linn.
College Principal, heavily tipped to be a future Vice-Chancellor.
Dr Linn is not on file.
Lastly, Theodore Platt.
Last surviving member of a very wealthy Oxford family.
Disparate group. What about Platt? Got anything on him?
This is awkward, bearing in mind what happened to your wife.
About three years ago, sir, when you were away,
Theodore Platt was involved in a head-on collision with another car.
He was left paralysed from the waist down.
The consensus at the time was that he was out of his head on drugs.
But he got himself a good lawyer and he got off.
What about the other driver?
Killed outright.
So erm...Bundrick or Linn?
Platt.
The others are nearer, sir.
I think Platt.
Nice.
Very.
With me.
No.
Better to avoid sudden movements.
Who the hell are you?
Inspector Lewis, Sergeant Hathaway, Oxfordshire Police.
What are they?
They're Malinois. Belgian shepherd dogs.
I'm Anne Sadikov, Inspector. This is my husband Theodore Platt.
Bloody women have everything but a man's name these days.
You should be Mrs Platt.
Much too close to "prat" for my liking.
How can we help you?
We're investigating a murder.
Dean Greely?
We read about that.
Murdering little Dean. Who could be bothered, that's what I'd like to know?
Maybe we should go inside.
Sandy, go and play.
I shall miss little Dean.
He was... He was like a lash for my back.
Oh, and how was that, sir?
I have long harboured ambitions to be an author.
High-brow, of course.
Unfortunately...
and despite having gone to considerable lengths,
I've been unable thus far to muster
the requisite talent for the job.
And all too often the companion piece of failure is self-pity, do you agree?
- Sometimes, I suppose. - I'm against pity...
in all its forms - scourge of mankind.
Sentiment used by the weak to blackmail the strong.
"Have pity," they whine.
"For pity's sake," they groan.
Do you prefer the man unencumbered by pity, the super man?
A policeman familiar with Nietzsche.
What is the world coming to?
Now, Greely, yes, he was a no-talent bum like me,
albeit in another field of endeavour.
How I loathed looking at his feeble efforts.
Miserable splodges of paint on canvas,
smelling the reek of his failure.
But I was honest enough to admit
that when I looked at little Dean, it was like looking in a mirror.
And since I couldn't pity him for his failure...
I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this, Detective.
Well, it's all very interesting.
I doubt it's why the officers are here, Theodore.
Don't...
..patronise me.
I shall miss little Dean. Known him since we were students.
That's why I've started early, you see.
To little Dean.
Any excuse.
When were you last in contact with Mr Greely?
Must be months.
So you haven't telephoned him recently?
- You didn't know he was at his boat? - No.
Well, thank you both for your time.
What?
- I said... - I heard what you said.
I tell you I didn't know Dean was here and you believe me.
Now, why is that?
Is it because of this?
Because that is discrimination, my friend!
I could have you for that.
I could have done it. I can get about. I could have done it.
You were here with me. - I could have done it.
Why would you want to, Mr Platt?
What with little Dean being your own personal lash and all that.
If you'll excuse us.
Oh, there is just one more question, Mr Platt.
In Mr Greely's contact book, your name
comes under the heading Sons Of The Twice Born.
What does that mean?
That's something you'll have to ask little Dean.
We would, but he's dead.
So?
Search me.
- That bloody arrogant... - Sir?
What is a woman like her doing with that?
He might still be able to get around,
but the poor bloke he smashed into sure as hell can't.
And don't tell me he's mended his ways.
Drunk or drugged up, I bet he still gets behind the wheel.
- Sir? - What?
Sometimes personal feelings can...
What about them?
Tell me what it is I'm not seeing, Sergeant.
That ring he was wearing...
The image on it, I've seen it before.
That is the Greek god Dionysus.
Go on.
Well, you know that stuff about pity being the scourge of mankind?
The sentiment used by the weak to blackmail the strong?
Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche,
a German philosopher who praised the Dionysian approach to life.
Oh, yeah?
He's known by some as the god of earthly delights.
His Greek adherents used intoxicants to achieve euphoric states,
release their creative energies, their artistic abilities.
Which, these days, would be drink or drugs.
Sons Of The Twice Born. I say Platt must have understood the reference.
So why deny that he did?
Greek gods? German philosophers? What is going on?
That pawn ticket of Greely's.
That was for a ring, wasn't it?
- Hello?
Hello? Is it a repair?
Or are you looking to buy?
Neither, I'm afraid.
Sergeant Hathaway, Inspector Lewis.
We're investigating the murder of Dean Greely.
How can we help you with that?
The shop's telephone number was in Mr Greely's contact book.
You knew Dean Greely, sir?
Yeah, we were students together.
You kept in touch since university?
I sometimes phoned to borrow money.
- Have you been in touch recently? - No.
Can you account for your whereabouts when Mr Greely was killed?
It's just a routine question, sir.
I was here with my mother.
Harry's always here with me. He's a very dutiful son.
I see.
The Sons Of The Twice Born.
Does that mean anything to you, sir?
No, I don't think so.
Such a terrible thing to happen. I didn't know him, but murder...
- The poor man was terminally ill. - He was what?
- Darling, isn't that correct? - Yes, some journalist I spoke to.
Wanted to know about my prospects for the Vice-Chancellorship.
She said we had a mutual friend in Dean and that he was terminally ill.
Came as quite a shock.
Would you mind telling us where you were when Mr Greely was killed?
Yes, of course.
I was in my office till very late
with only a mountain of paperwork for company.
Can you think of anybody that might want to harm Mr Greely?
Inspector, don't you have someone in for the murder?
Er...a woman, I think it said on the radio.
Not any more, no.
I see. Well...
Well, I'm afraid, no, I've no idea who'd do such a thing.
Tell me about the Sons Of The Twice Born.
What?
It came up with Theodore Platt and Harry Bundrick.
You know, about the rings and stuff.
- Do you still have yours? - It's er... It's around somewhere.
The Sons Of The Twice Born? What in heaven's name...?
It's just a group of friends.
It was a long time ago. We were very young.
Why on earth is it of interest to you?
A murder inquiry, sir. There's nothing about the victim
that wouldn't be of interest to us.
I see.
Sons Of The Twice Born. Sneaky.
Well, the old ones are the best.
What is it about this group?
Must be more to it than a bunch of hooray Henrys
meeting for a knees-up, hasn't there?
Or else why lie about it?
Does it even have any bearing on the case at all?
Sir?
I've been telling him about that.
Megan.
- Why were they looking at my car? - It's dripping oil, I told you.
What were they saying?
You had a conversation with them. About what?!
Megan, would you excuse us, please?
Sure.
- Darling, what's wrong? - Nothing's wrong.
Then why the interrogation of Megan?
Interrogation? I... I was merely curious
as to what those policemen were saying to her.
- That's all. - Sefton.
We've both worked very hard on your career.
We're within an ace of the Vice-Chancellorship. Everybody says so.
Now, is there anything I should know about?
Is there anything that could compromise you.
Darling...
there's nothing.
All this Greek god twaddle.
And Sefton Linn?
I really can't have you harassing people of that standing
on what seems little more than a concoction of conjecture and whimsy.
Come to think of it...
maybe I can kill two birds with one stone here.
Ma'am?
My ladies group has organised a recital of chamber music.
Mr Innocent is er...indisposed.
But since I know the Linns will be there, so will you, Inspector.
Your presence can take the bare look off me.
Me, ma'am? Chamber music? I don't think so.
This is not a request, Inspector.
Perhaps if you see Sefton Linn in a social setting,
you'll modify your opinion of him.
Now, the postmortem report on Dean Greely.
On my way to pick it up now, ma'am.
When is it exactly,
ma'am, this recital? - This evening.
And it's formal.
See if you can get us some background on the Sons Of The Twice Born.
See if we can push this beyond a concoction of conjecture and whimsy.
Shouldn't I wait, sir?
Wait for what?
Well, until you've been to the recital
and had a chance to meet Sefton Linn in a social setting.
If I were you, Sergeant, I really would just get on with it.
Where will Mr Innocent be?
Feigning illness or injury, if I'm any judge.
Is that it?
As I said at the scene, someone crushed his skull. That's it.
Why? Were you expecting more?
He was supposed to be terminally ill.
Well, he's given his liver a bashing over the years.
Apart from that, nothing.
Hello, Sefton.
You look well.
Thank you.
And you?
Oh...you know.
Never thought I'd find myself back in the Bodleian.
I hear you're destined for great things, Sef.
We'll see.
Is Professor Gold upstairs?
You can check, but I think she's down in the vaults.
Well, well, well!
Sefton Linn and Harry Bundrick.
You naughty boys, huh?
What have you been up to? Reliving old times?
Have you given him his kiss, Sef?
Made his day?
He might try to top himself again if you don't.
For God's sake, leave him alone, you twisted bastard!
Harry, are you missing those wild, bacchanalian nights in my temple,
when we were all so out of it you thought
you could risk a peck or two at old Sef here?
Future Vice-Chancellor.
- Hello, Theodore. - A-ha!
The poor man's Hypatia.
This must feel like old times for you, Gold.
Now we get to find out why we're here.
Only when we settle down and learn to keep a civil tongue, Theodore.
I wanted to bring you together
where I once tried to inspire you to great things.
I've had a visit from the police.
They wanted something translated from a contact book.
I'd read of Greely's death and I thought it might be his.
I was right.
And what has that to do with...
I checked with Sefton.
The police clearly link Dean Greely's death with his student days.
And as you were once a tight-knit group,
it occurred to me you might hold important information.
And now that you're here, you might like to think about that.
Well...do you think we should commemorate him in some way?
Deano. A park bench perhaps.
Or a blue plaque saying, "You may not have noticed,
but little Dean was here."
Or perhaps through discussion, as the professor said.
I don't know anything. As far as I'm concerned, he was hit over the head by some drunk.
Besides, discussion with you two?
The words "life", "too" and "short" spring readily to mind.
If you hadn't mentioned our group to the police,
you might not have to put up with our company.
- I didn't say anything. - No, nor me.
You've been conned, you damned fool.
Wait, Theo.
Has er... Has either of you been contacted by a journalist?
A woman named Fury.
Hm? Harry?
About Dean? Just the police.
No, not just about Dean.
About what, then?
Detective Inspector Lewis.
- Is Mr Platt at home? - No, he's not, no.
Mrs Sadikov's in the temple.
Thank you.
Inspector!
Come in, please.
I'm afraid, if you're looking for Theodore, he's just gone out.
Yeah, the lady at the house told me.
Wow.
My hobby.
My father's family were furriers.
The seamstress he employed showed me the tricks of the trade. This is how I use them.
There.
All better.
Sadikov.
- Russian is it? - Yes.
My stepfather's family somehow ended up in Bournemouth.
He started up the business there.
Now, there was a magician with a needle and thread.
Was?
- Oh, he died a few months ago. - Oh, I'm sorry.
Well...it was a bit of a blessing, really.
When fur went out of fashion, eventually he went out of business.
He took that badly. He suffered a massive stroke.
As a direct consequence, I believe.
Which is perhaps just as well.
I doubt he and Theodore would have gotten along.
Mother?
Died when I was young.
- You? - Yeah, both dead.
Other family?
Son and a daughter.
Wife?
My wife...was killed.
Hit-and-run.
Oh.
Oh, I'm so sorry.
Did they get the person responsible?
Nope.
I don't suppose they ever will now.
To have someone taken away from you like that...
You hide your anger well.
Sometimes I feel glad they didn't get whoever did it.
Why?
Cos I'm scared of what I might do to him.
Oh, I think I can understand that.
Where did you meet your husband?
I erm... Well, I trained as a nurse and decided I didn't fancy that.
And erm...I applied for a job as a PA.
After various appointments, I ended up working for Theodore.
A year later, he asked me to marry him.
Ask her why she accepted my proposal.
Hello, Theodore.
No?
I'll tell you.
If I go before her, she gets a fortune.
And I mean a fortune.
But she has to stay the course. Divorce gets her nothing.
Can I get you something?
- A coffee? - A little experiment, Inspector.
I want to see how long Sadikov there
will remain entombed in this marriage,
just to get her hands on my loot.
What portion of her allotted time on this earth
will she sacrifice to mammon?
Tea, then.
- With your favourite digestive? - I don't want bloody tea!
What are you doing here?
- The Sons Of The Twice Born. - What about them?
You said you'd never heard of them, but you were one of them.
Who told you that?
Sefton Linn. Harry Bundrick.
Oh, well, it must be true, but was it illegal?
Depends what you were getting up to.
We were a group of like-minded friends is all.
And shared the same recreational habits?
Why the evasion? Was it drugs?
You're boring me, Mr Policeman.
See? There you go again.
Yes! There I go again! Now, get out of my house!
Really, Theodore, where are your manners?
It's all right. The artistic temperament and all.
Thanks for the coffee.
My pleasure. I'll see you out, Inspector.
HATHAWAY: I turned up an article on Platt.
A bit of a boy wonder, by all accounts,
and a student of Professor Gold's.
So I thought I'd go and have a word with the professor.
I called the library, found out where she was and when I get there,
she's in a meeting with the Sons Of The Twice Born.
What were they talking about?
I didn't hear, but judging by their body language,
they're no longer a group, that's for sure.
Oh, I wonder why.
Grew out of each other, just?
A lot of associations formed at university do last.
I've got plenty of contemporaries that are still friendly.
Were you not in any groups yourself?
No. I'm not a joiner of things.
Nah, nor me.
Drugs was their big thing, though.
There might be some pretty embarrassing memories coming between them.
Stuff that's way beyond the ken of a nice theology student like yourself.
I mean, theology and mind-altering substances
don't really go hand in hand, do they?
No, you wouldn't think so, would you?
Nietzsche?
Yeah. A real page-turner.
What do you think?
A world without compassion.
It'd just be a free-for-all, wouldn't it?
That's one interpretation.
Well, it's Platt's interpretation.
You heard him. You have to suppose that goes for his cronies as well.
Anyway, philosophy is ruled out.
Far too many ambiguities, I reckon.
Maybe it's not an interest you really need at the moment.
Maybe that's why you can't pick a course.
Well, if not an interest, what?
I don't know.
Look, I'm holding you up. Now, have a really good night.
- Get out of here. - Right, sir.
It's the last one.
Yeah.
I hate them.
What will you do?
I have some irons in the fire.
Oh, I say.
Who's the new boy in the class?
You do scrub up well, Inspector.
You'd make someone a very decent other half.
Well, I'm looking for another half.
And, if you ask me, this penguin suit
has been to far too many Masonic dinners.
The trouser leg keeps rolling up of its own accord.
I didn't realise you were in the Masons.
No, I'm not, ma'am. It's a joke. It's a hire suit.
There are the Linns. Come and meet them.
Hello.
- How's things? - Sefton.
How are you?
And you know Inspector Lewis?
Yes, yes, we've met.
Such a terrible business all round.
Have there been any developments, Inspector, that you can speak about, I mean?
Well, yes, there has been one development as a matter of fact.
- Oh? - What?
Did I not tell you, ma'am?
Dean Greely wasn't dying.
What?
It was all there in the postmortem report.
Apart from the blows that killed him, Dean Greely was in the pink.
But that can't be.
This journalist - what do you suppose
she stood to gain from lying about that?
I really don't know.
- Did she leave you a contact number? - No.
- Not a thing. - Shame.
- It's time we were all getting in.
Excuse me, ma'am.
I'm sorry.
Sorry. Thanks.
Linn!
Old habits die hard, Professor.
Inspector.
Yes, I continue to work late.
But I absorb so much less these days.
Please, sit.
Thank you.
Are you here because of Platt and co?
Why?
For a time, those young men were very close.
If Greely's fate was indeed sealed in the period of their friendship,
it occurred to me that collectively they might hold some clue.
So you organised a meeting.
Yes.
How could you know?
Oh, it doesn't matter.
Well, I hope you don't mind, but they would never
have come together of their own accord.
But they would for you.
I've always retained an affection for my charges, Inspector.
Even a feeling of responsibility.
One hopes it's reciprocated.
What were they like back then?
Greely was one of mine.
As was Platt and Linn.
Bundrick was reading medicine
but he had a tremendous crush on Linn
and so became part of their group.
But Bundrick was cautioned for kerb-crawling.
Perhaps he was...versatile.
I used to form discussion groups in those days.
Informal.
The true meaning of Greek myth.
Greely, Linn and Bundrick would come along and...
..then Platt showed up.
He was quite, quite brilliant.
And charismatic, too.
Very soon, the other three were...
completely in his sway.
Well, they eventually stopped coming to my meetings.
And I was later to hear stories of drink and drugs.
And copious amounts of both, I may add.
Then came a falling-out, I don't know what about.
Bundrick dropped out altogether.
He even attempted suicide, you know.
Slashed his wrists, I believe.
It's true what they say.
Youth is wasted on the young.
Isn't it, though?
You couldn't recommend a primer to me, could you, of Greek mythology?
I'll have one sent round to you.
- Yes? Mr Bundrick?
My name is Fury.
I see you've got my little message.
Now, there's something I'd like you to do for me.
I won't do it! Do you hear me? I won't do it!
Harry?
What's the matter, Harry?
"His best friends killed him because of a boast."
Who would send us a thing like that and why?
If you take it literally, this is not the killer teasing us.
But it implies that the sender knew who the killer was.
Why not tell us, for God's sake?
If you're gonna shove something through my letterbox,
please make it a name, not a riddle!
Then there's Greely's miraculous, if brief, return from his death bed.
Maybe Greely lied to the journalist
about dying and was running a scam or something.
Maybe.
All I know is, when I told Linn,
I couldn't have got a bigger reaction
if I'd hit him with a sledgehammer. Why would that be?
Why do you want to see him?
He may be able to help us with the Greely murder.
Help you? How?
I'm sure he's already told you everything he knows.
If we could just speak to him, Mrs Linn?
The porter says he hasn't been to his office.
So, where do you think he might be?
Mrs Linn?
Well, he's been...
College matters, you understand?
Funding sources, I think it is.
Anyway, I must have been asleep when he got in and was still asleep when he left.
- Left for where? - Out walking.
He does his best thinking when he's out walking.
Now, you really must excuse me. I have a rather important engagement to attend.
When he gets back, get him to give us a call.
I'm sure he'll be only too willing to help if he can.
What do you think?
Something's not right.
Call a car, get over to Bundrick's.
I'll drive out to Platt's.
Sergeant Hathaway.
Have you seen Sefton Linn, Mr Bundrick?
Sefton? No, why? Is something wrong?
We'd like to speak to him.
Urgently.
But he seems to have gone missing.
- Missing? What do you mean, missing? - I mean missing...
..Mr Bundrick.
It's all right, Harry.
If we see or hear from Mr Linn, you'll be the first to know, Sergeant.
Now...
good day.
Oh, the Sons Of The Twice Born.
You were one of them.
- Is your husband at home? - Yes. Come on in.
Damn...
Damn, damn, damn.
Raargh!
Oh, my God!
Lay him down.
- What? - On his back.
Mr Platt!
Mr Platt...
- Stay with us. - Have you got a pen?
Yeah.
Break it open.
Don't you die on me.
Oh, don't die!
Yeah, ambulance.
You saved his life.
I saw it being done once
when I was a nurse.
I wasn't sure I could replicate it, though.
Lucky for him you could.
Can you speak?
Just about.
Inspector Lewis is with me.
He wants to know if Sefton Linn has been in touch.
No. Why?
He's gone missing.
They say everything's fine,
that it didn't do any lasting damage.
They told me.
Now, you tell me.
What?
You could have let me die.
I don't want you to die.
- No? - No.
Now you must rest.
When I asked you to marry me...
..it was no...
..experiment.
It was because...
..I love you.
Rest.
Sir!
Mr Linn, you don't know me.
My name is Fury.
I'm a freelance journalist
and I've been talking to a Son Of The Twice Born.
If you'd like to know what he had to say about that little group,
call when you've returned from High Table.
Say, nine this evening.
The number's 993-817.
Call the exchange, see if they can give us a location for that number.
Why ask him to call a public telephone?
And why that one?
Fury.
She said her name was Fury, right?
Mm.
The Erinyes, the Furies, were agents of the gods,
who punished wrongdoing.
They would harass and injure their prey, but never kill them.
Whom the gods would destroy, they first make mad?
Yeah.
Or maybe her name's just Fury, like she said.
Come on.
Call when you've returned from High Table.
Say, nine this evening.
The number's 993-817.
What does it mean?
We think the Son Of The Twice Born she's referring to is Dean Greely,
and that he'd been talking to the journalist about the group.
We think your husband killed Greely because of what he revealed.
No, you must be mistaken.
These Sons Of The Twice Born were into drugs in a major way.
Maybe Greely was about to reveal all.
A future Vice-Chancellor with a past like that?
What does she sound like, this Fury?
Age - impossible to tell.
Social status - middle-class if her delivery's anything to go by.
And we have no idea who she could be?
Checked with the National Union of Journalists,
every press organisation we can think of.
No female Fury on file anywhere.
So it may well be a mythical name...
..in more ways than one.
I suppose, being who and what he is,
Sefton Linn has dozens of contacts in Oxford?
We need to let them know we're after him.
And, Lewis...
Ma'am?
About Linn...
Yeah, ma'am.
- Platt. Mr Platt?
- Who's this? - My name is Fury, Mr Platt.
And right now, I'm watching your wife in the garden.
Such a pretty woman.
What do you want?
You know, I'm sure you could so easily come out and catch me
if it wasn't for your unfortunate condition.
Good for me, Mr Platt.
Not so good for your pretty wife.
How can you possibly protect her, keep her out of harm's way?
I said, what do you want?
Your friend, Mr Linn.
Such a clever man.
And yet I was able to manipulate him with considerable ease.
That should tell you something about me, Mr Platt.
About my capabilities.
About what a dangerous enemy I can be.
Do you want me to clean the study, Mr Platt?
No, no.
- Sorry? - No! Not now!
Morning.
Lewis.
What?
Good morning.
For us, maybe.
But not for Sefton Linn.
He took both barrels of a shotgun and he didn't see it coming.
If he'd tried to defend himself, you'd expect wounds to the arms.
But as you can see,
there's nothing, it's all to the torso.
He drove here. Looks like he got out of his car,
walked to meet his killer, and then bang.
His clothes look new.
It doesn't look like he's been living rough. So, where's he been?
Well, there was a door key in his pocket.
All we need to do now is find the door that it opens.
Try his home and office. If it doesn't fit them,
he must have got himself a bolt-hole.
Or had someone else get it for him.
Try rented accommodation.
Something isolated, probably, and recently leased.
There's hundreds of places around Oxford - holiday homes, cottages.
Yeah, but we know precisely when he disappeared.
So, if we check what properties were advertised in the local press that day,
we might get lucky.
Inspector Lewis!
Please, come in.
Thank you.
You told me you had reason to mourn Dean Greely's passing, Mr Platt.
Unless you can do the same for Linn, I want to know where you were last night.
I was here.
Alone?
I had a migraine, went to bed early.
But I'd have heard something if Theodore had left the house.
Anyway, why would you suspect me?
Linn knew and trusted his killer, trusted him enough
to get out of his car on a dark track
and go and talk to him.
And whoever did this seems to have enticed Linn out into the open. Why?
Because it would be more convenient for a cripple? Is that what you're saying?
I'm saying, I'm gonna get whoever did this.
But in the meantime,
a word of warning, Mr Platt. - A warning?
These are dire times for members of your little group.
I think those that are left should be extra vigilant.
I'd be quaking in my boots if I could.
Damn it.
Lewis.
I had a chat with a member of the college council.
They have some letters relating to Sefton Linn they think we should look at.
I'll go straight there, ma'am.
Your mother sent those letters to the college council.
You can see they're not complimentary about Sefton Linn.
In fact, I'd say vitriolic was an understatement.
I had no idea she was doing this.
Was your mother at home last night, Mr Bundrick?
Yes, why?
Because, sometime last night, Sefton Linn was murdered.
I'm very sorry.
What's going on, Mr Bundrick?
Greeley, now Linn.
What's this all about?
If you know anything at all...
I was...I was to become a surgeon, you know.
I know.
And something...
There came a time when I couldn't carry on.
My mother blamed the others for that,
for leading me astray.
She blamed Sefton most of all.
She even blamed him when I tried to...
It wasn't Sefton's fault.
It was...it was something else altogether.
What?
What was it, Mr Bundrick?
You can tell me.
- I was... Harry?
Harry!
You should never have said these things about Sefton!
I stand by every word.
The idea of a man like that holding high office!
Sefton's dead, Mother! He's been murdered!
Good.
If you catch whoever did it,
thank him for me.
Can I help you?
I was hoping that this key would open that door.
It's the back door key.
The last refuge of Sefton Linn.
This is the owner, local farmer John Staunton.
- Who hired the cottage? - Not Linn. It was a woman.
Forties, plain-looking, working-class, he says.
Paid cash.
- Name? - Worth. Patricia Worth.
I called in, asked them to run a check.
And they came up with a Missing Person's report.
Trisha Worth, aka Patsy Worth,
reported missing in 1984 by close friend, Tina Daniels.
Both of them lived on the Wellington Road and both...
Both Patsy Worth and Tina Daniels
had been cautioned a couple of times for soliciting.
Prostitutes.
Wasn't Harry Bundrick warned for kerb crawling?
Yes, he was.
Inspector.
How can we help you?
I'll tell him.
Have you ever heard Linn mention a Patricia Worth
or Tina Daniels?
Theodore?
No.
What is it?
Patsy Worth was a prostitute.
Harry Bundrick used prostitutes.
Now, someone calling herself Patsy Worth has hired a cottage
for Bundrick's friend, Sefton Linn.
See, that name Patsy Worth, I don't buy it being picked at random.
It's too much of a coincidence.
Picked by someone who knew her, then?
Yeah. Like the woman that reported her missing, maybe.
Tina Daniels.
(KNOCK ON DOOR)
(SPEAKS SOFTLY)
They've caught a prowler on the Platt Estate.
You said you didn't know any of Greely's friends
and we find you outside one of their houses!
Your partner and one of his friends have been murdered already
and now you're stalking another one. - No.
I started thinking.
If Dean was telling the truth,
then it was an old friend who'd asked him up to Oxford
and that old friend knew he'd be at the boat.
- Right? - Go on.
When Linn went missing,
I knew who was behind it all. - Who?
Platt.
He was always the manipulative puppeteer,
with money in his brains.
Well now, for some reason,
he was killing them.
- Why not Bundrick? - Harry?
Never. He loved Linn.
Tried to get over him with his little friend, but alas couldn't.
Little friend?
Harry visited a prostitute.
In fact, poor Harry was in the red light district when he tried to end it all.
You know her name?
Tina.
Patsy Worth and Tina Daniels -
they're key to this somehow, I know it.
Call me ageist, but in their mid-forties,
what kind of living could they make on the streets?
- Niche market, perhaps. - There are easier ways, ma'am.
Sir.
You were right. There is one on that street.
Called Love Lines.
Thank you!
Love Lines.
Can I speak to Tina, please?
She's not in right now, mate.
She starts her shift at five.
Does she take a break at all? I'd hate to miss her.
Between 8:45 and 9:15.
OK, I'll call back, then. Thank you.
She doesn't start till five.
But she takes a break between 8:45 and 9:15,
which would explain why Linn was told to call the phone box at nine.
A public phone,
yet she works in a place like that.
Well, they'll monitor all incoming calls, I imagine.
Know about these places, do you?
I'm assuming they don't want their operatives
tying up the line for personal calls, that's all.
If you say so.
Platt.
Mr Platt.
What do you want?
Don't you find it awfully quiet
being all alone in that big house?
I'll be in touch with instructions.
All alone?
Anne!
Come on, ring.
Cheers.
Greek.
Yep, didn't seem to be any getting away from it.
So I see.
"To Inspector Lewis from Margaret Gold."
She even signed it for you.
Yeah, I asked her for a primer.
I never expected one she'd written herself.
Ah, for whom the gods would destroy, etc.
Just wanted some insight into...
..the case.
It can't be her. That's...
She's Platt's cleaning lady.
Well, maybe she cleans in there as well.
Call them.
Hi, Mark.
- Love Lines. -Hi, has Tina arrived yet?
She's just come in if you wanna wait.
I'll call back.
It's her. Platt's cleaning lady and Tina Daniels are the same person.
But I've heard her speak.
No way could she be Fury.
Or could she?
Come on.
Ma'am, would you mind?
This is meant to be...
..phone sex.
My name is Fury.
I'm a freelance journalist and I've been talking to a Son Of The Twice Born.
If you'd like to know what he had to say about...
- We're recording. -OK, let's go.
Hello, this is Tina. Who's calling?
Hello, Tina. My name is Michael.
Hello, Michael. Have we chatted before?
Only, I feel sure I would remember such a manly voice.
No, Tina, this is my first time.
My friend Robbie recommended me to you.
So, Tina, the thing is,
my girlfriend and I have just broken up.
- And I'm feeling lonely. - I know the feeling, Michael.
Such a terrible emptiness inside.
Such painful longing.
Such an aching need
when you wake up all alone in that big bed.
Would you like to watch me, Michael?
Yes, Tina, I would like that very much.
That's wonderful.
Would you like to watch me all alone,
lying on the top of my silk sheets...
..on my bed, Michael?
Tina, I have to go. My mum's coming.
Tina Daniels.
Or would you prefer Fury?
Patsy Worth?
This is all about Patsy, isn't it, Tina?
Do you want to know why you're here?
You called Dean Greely and enticed him to Oxford.
Then you telephoned Sefton Linn and told him you were a freelance journalist
called Fury,
and that you were talking to a Son Of The Twice Born.
What buttons did you push, Tina?
To get Sefton Linn to go out and kill Greely?
Next thing you do is hire a cottage from a Mr Staunton,
using the name Patsy Worth, your close friend,
the close friend who you reported missing 20 years ago.
The cottage is for Linn,
who is, by now, trying to avoid the long arm of the law,
in this case, Inspector Lewis and myself.
But then, somehow, Linn is coaxed out of hiding
and is himself murdered.
Would you care to expand on any of this, Tina?
I've got nothing to say.
Tell us about Harry Bundrick.
He was a regular client of yours, wasn't he, way back then?
Bundrick drove to a less-than-salubrious part of town
to try and kill himself.
Why was that?
Any joy?
- Not yet. - Warrant to search her premises.
There's an imprint on this pad, sir.
Looks like...
Adrenochrome.
Adrenochrome? Does that mean something?
Yeah.
Um, it's a drug.
A very special drug from a very special place.
Where?
Well, to harvest adrenochrome, you have to go to hell itself.
What?
You've got to murder for it.
Do you know what adrenochrome is, Tina?
No.
Somebody's written that word on this pad.
Look, you can see the imprint.
We got that pad from your flat.
Adrenochrome is a drug, Tina.
And Platt and his crew,
they thought drugs could work wonders for them, couldn't get enough of them.
And how they wanted to try adrenochrome, Tina.
But try it in its purest form.
Which, myth has it, gives the highest of highs.
But the thing about it is,
in its purest form,
adrenochrome comes from the human adrenal gland.
And when you remove that,
the donor dies.
Is that what happened to Patricia Worth, Tina?
Your friend?
Bundrick said a friend of his needed a girl.
I recommended Patsy.
Bundrick called later to say she hadn't turned up when she was supposed to.
She had.
And been killed.
- How do you know that? - Bundrick told me.
It was one night. It was about a year after Patsy went missing.
I got into his car.
And he told me what they did.
So that was your power over them?
You had all the facts.
I told Greely that an old chum of his was about to spill the beans.
But if he wanted to find out who, he was to go to the boat and wait.
I told Linn that I was a freelance journalist
and that Greely had been talking to me.
I told him that Greely was dying and wanted to make a clean breast of everything.
I told Linn that if he ever hoped to make Vice-Chancellor,
he should silence Greely.
So you've been manipulating the Sons Of The Twice Born
to kill each other off,
in revenge for their role in Patricia Worth's death?
But what happened to her, Tina?
They were taking drugs all night.
Patsy passed out.
That's when they decided to do it.
All of them?
No.
Linn backed out.
He ran away.
Left Patsy to her fate.
Bundrick couldn't do it.
Greely couldn't do it.
So Platt did it.
When they realised what they'd done, they panicked.
Greely, Platt and Bundrick got rid of the body.
Bundrick said he couldn't remember where.
He was too out of his head.
Somewhere on Platt's land, he said.
(Bundrick...)
Bundrick said his guilt started right there.
He threw his ring into the grave.
After he finished telling me what they'd done...
..he took out his razor and slashed his wrists.
Ring, damn you.
Ring!
The reason you didn't come forward
was that you were protecting someone.
"Tenth anniversary.
Roman made the coat especially."
Courtesy of the Bournemouth Register Office.
A marriage certificate, between you, Tina,
and Roman Sadikov.
Which means that Anne Sadikov had to be in on this.
But just to help you avenge the death of an old friend?
No, I don't think so.
There'll be more to it than that.
Patricia Worth was Anne's mother, wasn't she?
And it was Anne you were protecting at the time.
Who'd want to tell a little girl that her mother had died like that?
Patsy was my best friend.
When she died, Anne was six.
I wasn't gonna put her into care.
I looked after her.
Later on, I married Roman.
He was a good stepfather to Anne.
We had a good life until the business went under.
Why did you use Patsy Worth's name when you booked the cottage?
Linn called Platt, said he needed a place to hide.
Anne said she'd help out.
Platt said I had to use a false name.
Somehow it seemed right...
Patsy should be involved in it somehow.
So I used her name.
Why did Anne save Platt's life?
Because he's the only one left
that knows precisely where her mother was buried.
Did Bundrick know where Linn was hiding?
- No. - No.
So, if the plan was for
the Sons Of The Twice Born to annihilate each other,
Platt has to be Linn's killer.
He's the only one that knew where he was.
There would always have to be one left.
Bundrick?
Because he showed remorse.
So the only one left to be dealt with
is Platt.
Yes!
Theodore...Theodore...
This woman...
She says, give me the directions and she'll let me go.
What directions?
- What does she mean? - Listen to me, Anne.
Listen.
I'm gonna give you directions.
There's a statue...
..of Diana.
I've got that, Theodore.
I'll tell her.
Anne!
Darling!
You murdered my mother, Theodore.
And your chums did nothing to stop you.
Rubbish!
She was just some whore!
You her daughter?
It's not possible.
I'm afraid it is, Theodore.
- God, I think I know what it means. - What?
"His best friends killed him because of a boast."
What?
His best friends. Man's best friend.
Dogs.
I killed for you!
She said if I didn't kill Linn,
you would be harmed!
I did it for you!
I know you did.
We had intended for Bundrick to do it, but he refused.
But when you said you love me,
I knew you'd step up to the plate.
Is this where it happened?
- No! - Is this where you killed my mother?
Did she beg you for mercy, Theodore?
- Ask you to have pity on her? - No!
- Did you laugh at that? - No! No!
You can't imagine the daughter of a little whore causing your group to implode.
Well, it's true. And you were the easiest to fool because you love me.
- "I love you, Anne." - Bitch!
- "I love you." - Bitch!
I take no great pleasure in doing this.
It was you who brought me to this point.
- You! - You bitch!
I'll stick you, you bitch!
I'll stick you!
Oh, dear.
I think they heard that, Theodore.
No! Aaargh!
You're too late, I'm afraid. He tried to attack me, and the dogs...
The dogs...
I'm glad it's over.
I'm glad.
Could have all been over a long time ago.
No.
Sefton persuaded me to forget all about it.
God knows, I've tried.
She was 16 when she became pregnant with me.
She decided to keep me, even when her parents booted her out.
I sometimes wonder if I would have done the same thing.
When I was old enough, I found out about her,
what she did for a living.
I made Tina tell me the rest.
But if you knew Platt murdered your mother, why didn't you tell us?
Do you really think Platt would have led you to this place?
This is what's really important to me.
Well, why marry him?
It wasn't a regular marriage.
That would have been out of the question.
I did it for the money.
We'll be wealthy women when we get our lives back.
When Her Majesty decides to give us our lives back.
I don't imagine that'll be too long.
After all,
we never laid a finger on any of them.
"His best friends killed him because of a boast."
Somebody sent me that.
There was this Greek called Actaeon.
He boasted that he was a better hunter than the goddess Artemis.
So she turned him into a stag and his own dogs tore him to pieces.
You think I sent it and you want to know why?
Well, if I had sent it,
I may have been thinking,
since you can't have your own revenge,
maybe, in some small way, you could share in mine.
After all, if you'd worked it out, you could have stopped me.
But you didn't.
You don't have to do this.
Yes, we do.
Have you had a chance to look at my book?
Oh, yeah.
"Foolish is the child who forgets a parent's piteous death."
Electra, in the play by Sophocles.
But is that utterance truly wise?
Would it not have been better for Anne
to forget her parent's piteous death?
Well, maybe she just...
couldn't forget.
Thanks for your help, Professor.
And for your book.
Goodbye, Inspector.
I've been thinking about the Open University.
What about plain old history?
Oh! Nah. My worst subject at school, man.
Anyway, I think you might be right.
It's maybe not what I'm wanting right now, not really.
You haven't let the case put you off?
- What? Platt, you mean? - Hm.
Learning didn't make him a killer.
Condemnation for Platt, yet barely a harsh word for Anne.
If she did send you that riddle, she's guilty of premeditated murder.
Doesn't that make her just like Platt?
Not in my book.
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