PORTIA: Is your name Shylock? SHYLOCK: Shylock is my name.
PORTIA: Of a strange nature is this suit you follow,
yet in such rule that the Venetian law cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
You stand within his danger, do you not?
ANTONIO: Aye, so he says.
PORTIA: Do you confess the bond?
ANTONIO: I do.
PORTIA: Then must the Jew be merciful.
SHYLOCK: On what compulsion, must I? Tell me that.
PORTIA: The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.
It is twice blest.
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest.
It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown.
Do you need any help with your luggage, Mr Monkford?
No, thanks, I'll leave them here. One of us will pick them up later.
Bobby.
Thank you, sir.
This way, sir. Thank you.
Shylock, dear heart, not too Jewish.
When we're doing Fiddler On The Roof, we'll let you know.
Portia, in the trial scene,
the most famous in the whole of the drama,
you are pleading for a man's life.
You're not trying to sell the court a time share in Spain.
Antonio, sweet Antonio,
think about the story.
This man is demanding a pound of human flesh. Human flesh.
No more. No less.
You should be petrified.
At the moment, you seem to be mildly concerned.
I must obviously try harder to be petrified.
Happy birthday, bonnie lass.
We've got two previews today. Two chances to get this thing right.
Before the critics and agents descend like a pack of wolves
on our humble fold tomorrow evening.
Don't worry about this afternoon.
The audience will be friends, family, ex-lovers
and the odd civilian who might come in out of the rain.
It's open air. They'll still get wet.
Metaphorically.
Metaphorically, "the rain it raineth every day".
Wrong play.
The bottom line is, this production could make or break all of us.
Though it isn't obvious from the unprofessional way you're going about it.
Being late for rehearsals is a cardinal sin.
I was finishing an essay! That's no excuse.
The question is, where do you all expect to be in ten years' time?
Well?
I shall be home in Iran.
I hope to be occupying a senior position in government.
I'll probably still be here, teaching all the stuff I'm learning at the moment.
I'll be enjoying a three-in-a-bed sex romp in Hollywood, probably.
You see? Richard understands.
Is Amanda Costello coming?
I believe the Blessed Amanda is going to honour us with her presence.
Good. The woman owes us a favour.
It's only a preview. We don't open for real until tomorrow night.
I'm leaving town this evening, so it's my only chance.
It's a sentimental thing.
I was at this college a thousand years before you were born.
Ah, well, look on the bright side. The tickets are half price.
Thank you.
Hello! Hey!
It's very good of you to come. It'll probably be a total shambles.
Oh, it's the function of a preview to be a shambles.
This is my only window. I'm singing madrigals tonight
and I can't make your first night - I'm chairing a debate on Moliere.
The punishment for some sin I have no recollection of committing.
Oh, what a shame.
Amanda is coming tomorrow night. That's very brave of her.
Excuse me. I need to be nice to someone.
Hi, Joe.
How are you? Word-perfect.
As usual.
Oh, never mind.
Richard's a perfect Shylock. I'm sure we can still be friends.
Sorry.
Hello. How are you?
Who do you have to sleep with to get out of this production, eh?
You tell us!
Don't worry, Richard.
I'm sure you'll steal all the notices,
as befitting a star of your magnitude.
I have a question.
When Sir John Gielgud gave his celebrated Hamlet here in...
1673,
where did he park his bike?
What are you doing here, Phil? Oh, you know me, darling.
It's my gritty proletarian roots.
I enjoy blood sports, bare-knuckle boxing,
hare coursing...students doing Shakespeare.
Phillip, who would be likely to steal such a bicycle?
That's a fair point.
I'll probably just dump it and steal a better one, eh?
Hi, guys. Just dropped by to say, "Break a leg."
I'm surprised you didn't want to break both of my legs.
Thank you, Mrs Monkford. Have a nice day.
Any charge for the late-comers?
Not if the late-comer is a professor who's on the telly.
Thank you.
♪ ..or in the heart or in the head?
♪ How begot?
♪ How nourished?
♪ Reply
♪ It is engender'd in the eyes
♪ With gazing fed and fancy dies
♪ In the cradle, where it lies
♪ Let us all ring fancy's knell...
Reza, have you seen Richard? He's on in five.
The green room? Toilet?
Standing in a corner, trying to remember his lines?
Or under a stone having a last-minute fix?
I've tried them all.
I don't know.
Ladies and gentlemen, please forgive this break in transmission,
but a member of the cast has been taken ill.
If we could crave your patience for ten minutes or so,
we'll take an early interval
and make a further announcement, when we have a clearer idea of the situation.
The bar is open.
Thank you so much.
Excuse me.
Look, I've no idea what's going on, but I'm giving a lecture in...
..well, five minutes ago. And you are?
James Alderson. Professor James Alderson.
Archaeologist. Very good.
I've seen you on BBC4.
If you could just leave us some contact details.
Thank you.
A single stab wound to the heart.
With? A very sharp knife.
According to the 12-year-old stage manager, it's the one they used in the play.
They use a real knife? Well, only to threaten.
Nobody gets murdered.
It's the Merchant Of Venice.
That's...the one with the pound of flesh?
Uh-huh.
Got it.
I've lined up everybody beside the bar,
ready for names, addresses and witness statements.
Do we know who she is? Emma Golding.
Director. She is very keen to jump the queue.
I'll see you later in the bar.
Emma Golding? Yes. Detective Inspector Lewis.
I gather you wanted to be first in line to give your witness statement.
I didn't witness anything. I was just standing at the back.
It's a bit delicate. Don't worry. I can do delicate.
We're supposed to open tomorrow night.
We've got lots of agents and critics coming.
And?
Is it all right if we still go ahead?
Without Shylock?
Hamlet without the Prince.
I've got another actor ready and waiting. Joe Myers.
He took the trouble to learn the part and then I didn't cast him.
I see.
Do actors kill to get parts?
Some would. If they could get away with it.
You don't seem very upset.
I'm sorry. The thing is...
my mother does some bereavement counselling.
She says one way of dealing with the loss of somebody close
is to focus on practical matters and let the grief take its time.
I'll try and remember that.
Leave it with me.
Thank you.
Mr... Monkford. Simon Monkford.
Your connection with the play? None whatsoever. I wanted to see it.
I came in off the street and bought a ticket.
That one.
I sat there and didn't move.
I don't know what this is all about, but I guess that ticket is my alibi.
There you go, sir. Do you live in Oxford?
Just passing through. Staying at The Randolph.
But I'm leaving town this evening. Round about now, actually.
Leave an address and number. No worries.
All yours. Thanks, sir.
Right. Name?
I found this note on the body.
"Neither a borrower nor a lender be."
Shakespeare? Hamlet.
Wrong play.
Well, this is Oxford.
Don't I bloody know it.
Might I collect my suitcases?
Erm, sorry, sir, your wife collected them earlier.
I don't have a wife.
A blond lady. She was here about three o'clock.
I have a girlfriend with dark hair. She was here with me last night.
But I've never had a blond wife
and I'm sure I'd remember a thing like that.
Ah...
Would you like to speak to the manager?
I think that would be a very good idea.
What have you done with them all? Executive decision.
I sent the actors and their nearest and dearest to the green room
in the main building and let the more obvious civilians go home.
Names and addresses? Yeah. Of course.
And I know when Richard Scott was murdered.
You do?
Act III, Scene 2.
Known to Shakespearean scholars the world over as "the casket scene".
Let me guess. Shylock is in the scene before...
And the one after, which is when they couldn't find him backstage
and the panic set in.
LEWIS: Practical matters first.
For obvious reasons, tonight's preview is cancelled.
Whether you proceed with the official opening tomorrow night
is something that needs to be decided.
I think most of us would like the show to go on, after all the work we've done.
Does it have to? Yes, dear, I think it has to.
It's what Richard would have wanted, I'm sure.
Is it right you're word-perfect?
To the last dot and comma.
Even the nuances have nuances.
But we want you all to stick around for a couple of hours.
We need to speak to you individually.
I told Mr Lewis it wouldn't be a problem,
since we'd be here for rehearsals under...
Normal circumstances?
Quite so.
I'm not sure I can remember "normal circumstances".
Yes? May I go first?
I'm singing madrigals in a choir this evening.
How do you fit into the scheme of things?
Professor Denise Gregson.
I'm Emma's head of department. And my landlady.
So please be very nice to her.
We're always very nice to everybody.
Emma Golding is your student? Postgraduate.
Just done a huge doctorate on where the English theatre all went wrong.
She's very young, of course, but her writing is extraordinary.
Her dissertation is probably the best I've ever read.
And you're her landlady? I've got a big, old Victorian house.
When my husband grew up and left, I decided to fill it with students.
"Neither a borrower nor a lender be."
It's Polonius in Hamlet. What about it?
It was written on a piece of paper found next to Richard Scott's body.
Oh.
Is that funny?
It's ironic, in the proper sense of the word.
Richard had an expensive lifestyle
and owed money to everybody in the cast.
Probably to everybody in Oxford.
The idea of him playing a moneylender was totally bizarre.
Might that be a clue?
..thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends,
heated mine enemies, and what's his reason?
"I am a Jew."
Hath not a Jew eyes?
Hath not a Jew hands,
organs, dimensions, senses,
passions... Affections.
You left out "affections".
..affections, passions,
fed with the same food, hurt with the same weap...
Oh, bugger. Sorry, Joe.
I need to take this. Carry on. You're doing fine.
Yes?
It's true.
Your guess is as good as mine.
OK. Your guess is probably better than mine.
Can we speak later? I'm still trying to put on a show here.
..winter and summer, as a Christian is? Yeah.
If you prick us,
do we not bleed?
If you tickle us,
do we not laugh?
If you poison us, do we not die, and if you wrong us, shall we not...
Either way, my advice is keep well away from the Rialto Bridge.
That's not funny. I'm not laughing.
It is mildly amusing.
But it's not a patch on "How did you enjoy the play, Mrs Lincoln?"
But not bad for an archaeology student.
Shut up, Phil, for God's sake.
Nice one.
Sorry to interrupt. Does anybody else have to get away early?
- Yeah. I've got a bar job. - You're not involved?
No, I'm just a groupie. I hang out with the stars of tomorrow.
Philip Beaumont?
The name might not mean much to you now,
but give it time, it'll mean even less.
You're a student? I was.
Now I'm a drop-out.
Why?
I'm a working-class lout from the north of England.
They let me in to balance the intake.
I thought I could win the class war, but I was misinformed.
Why were you here this afternoon?
I worked with the company at the Edinburgh Festival.
As an actor?
No. I wrote a play and they produced it.
They made a mess of it, but, hell, nobody is perfect.
- So you're a writer? - The jury is still out on that one.
How did you get on with Richard Scott?
Richard was just a little...
ambitious, over-privileged child, like most of the others.
Ambitious in what way?
We're all chancers,
all looking for the Oxbridge short-cut into showbusiness.
- Does it work? - Ask yourself.
Beyond The Fringe. Monty Python.
Do you think you'd have heard of any of those if they'd gone to Huddersfield Poly?
Did you lend money to Richard Scott?
I've got a 15-grand overdraft, three part-time jobs, an allotment
and I sleep in an airing cupboard at the Professor's penitentiary.
Professor Gregson's house? Yeah. It's my penance.
Somewhere along the line, I probably said "balls" to the witch doctor.
I know it's a silly question, but do you like anybody in Oxford?
Can I get back to you on that one?
What do we think about that lad?
Might be worth a punt.
Embittered Northerner with a chip on both shoulders.
Except he was sitting in the audience at the time of the murder.
Along with 20 other people, all watching the play.
A man called Monkford tells me it's all rather casual,
a lot of coming and going.
Beaumont could have sneaked out, done the deed and sneaked back in.
So could any of the other 20 in the audience. True.
Is it sneaked or snuck?
Sir.
Did you like Richard Scott? Not very much.
He was a spoilt child.
Did you lend him money? Yes.
Did he repay you?
No.
You don't sound very worried about that.
I come from a very wealthy Iranian family.
How else would a dusky foreigner be here at Oxford?
So please don't categorise me as an Arab stereotype.
I wouldn't dream of it.
Thank you.
Isabel Dawson. Second year. History. Playing Portia. Yes.
I have to do the quality of mercy speech
and make it sound like nobody has heard it before.
Tell us about Richard Scott.
He was a brilliant actor.
He was always borrowing money. He never borrowed any from me.
I assume you couldn't afford it.
He mostly borrowed from the other guys.
With the women, he always said he'd take it in kind.
You mean, sexually? He thought he was God's gift.
And was he? Not to me.
In the time-honoured phrase, he didn't even get to first base.
But he didn't go short... if you see what I mean.
I'm told you're all very ambitious. Are YOU?
Not very. Emma doesn't understand it.
Says I need therapy.
This way, sir.
Joe Myers... You're taking over the part of Shylock.
For my sins.
Do you have sins? Many and various,
but they don't include murder.
Why did you come to the performance this afternoon?
I wanted to see him fail.
Why? The man was a waste of space.
A good actor, apparently. Which made it worse.
The thing is...
Don't make the mistake of thinking we're all here
because we want to create a lovely work of art.
We're all here because we're self-centred.
On the make. So we've been told.
You could take all the envy and jealousy in this company,
feed it into the National Grid and light up the whole country.
Is that what you want to hear? It's what we keep hearing.
Thank you.
From what we've been told, nobody liked Richard Scott very much.
He borrowed money from the men.
He tried to seduce all the women.
That's a fair summary.
And yet you worked with him. He had a redeeming feature.
Talent.
Even a touch of genius.
We took a show to the Edinburgh Festival. He stole the notices.
"The next Olivier." All that kind of thing.
How did that go down with the rest of the company?
Most people were not thrilled to bits.
Some of us went out and bought wax effigies.
So he's playing Shylock,
the most famous Jewish character in the whole of drama
and you've got an Iranian in the company.
Whatever else this was, it wasn't a racist crime.
Richard wasn't even Jewish.
He was a womaniser, apparently.
Did you and he...?
We had a bit of a fling. Way back.
But it didn't add up to a hill of beans.
Another one. Another one what?
Another quote from an old movie.
With Beaumont, it was Casablanca and Some Like It Hot.
I had a bit of a fling with Phil as well. Also way back.
We'd play this game.
We'd have entire conversations in quotes from classic movies.
Do you have a lot of flings?
This is Oxford. About average, I'd say.
What is it about the theatre?
How come people end up hating each other?
Vanity.
You all want to be rich and famous.
Famous will do.
Here's a question.
For the last 50 years, who's run the British theatre?
I don't know. Give in.
Men. Oxbridge boys.
Well, to be precise, mostly Cambridge,
if you'll pardon the expression.
And you're going to change all that? Damn right.
This production is my calling card into the business.
That's why it is so important for me.
You probably think I'm being totally heartless, but...
Focus on the practicalities to keep the grief at bay?
As Samuel Beckett didn't quite say, the tears will come, anyway.
HATHAWAY: A scary woman, that Emma Golding.
You reckon? Yeah.
Killer potential? That's a different matter.
Murder your leading man the night before your show opens? Doesn't make sense.
The front page of the tabloids. Could sell a lot of tickets.
My mother used to go to the theatre on a Monday.
Two for the price of one on a Monday.
They don't do that any more, sir.
No, I don't suppose they do.
Hi, sweetheart. Amanda's back in town.
When can we meet? I need all the dirt. Only the best quality will do.
Well, it may be murder and mayhem to you, darling,
but it's bread and butter to me.
Thank you.
Thanks. You're welcome.
For you, sir. Cheers.
What is that? Tonic water on the rocks with a slice of lemon.
Tonic water? Mm.
I'm detoxing.
Tonic water on the rocks is a preferred drink of recovering alcoholics.
Plus, it gives one a sort of spurious glamour.
I'll bear that in mind. In case I ever need any "spurious glamour".
Mr Lewis.
Good to see you again. And you.
May I? Of course.
This is my sergeant, James Hathaway. Hi.
Graham Wilkinson.
Are you still second-in-command here?
Yes. Waiting patiently for the big job.
I know the feeling.
I was wondering whether I could pick your brains.
If you can find them. It's been a long day.
We might have been the victims of a scam.
What sort of scam?
A man leaves his luggage with the porter, says it's to be collected later.
While he's away, a woman claiming to be his wife turns up.
Scatty-woman performance, says he's been called away on business,
he's got the ticket and can she collect the cases for him?
An hour later, the man turns up, denies having a wife
and generally hits the roof. Could all be true.
Except I've heard of two or three similar cases on the grapevine.
You report it to the police.
The victim, so-called, files a claim for the contents of the cases
and the hotel's insurance pays him off.
How much money are we talking about? £3,000? £4,000?
Does he have a name, this man?
Simon Monkford. Those are his contact details.
I know Simon Monkford. YOU do?
Mid-40s? Well-dressed? Yes.
He was at the theatre this afternoon. Gave me his ticket.
Very nice of him.
No. He gave me his ticket and said, "That's my alibi."
It was almost as if...
well, not the first time in his life he'd needed an alibi.
And that's what we have so far.
Why would money be a motive?
Because the lad had debts all over the place.
What did he spend it on?
According to Dr Hobson, most of it went up his nose in powder form.
And sex?
He borrowed money from the men and tried to screw all the women.
Hm, sounds a real charmer.
Dare I ask you about art?
They all wanna be stars.
No cure for that.
Forensics?
57 varieties of fingerprint on the murder weapon,
but it's in the play,
so all sorts of people have been touching it.
There's some dirt on the handle,
but the backstage area is in a garden, so that's not much help either.
Ooh. A minor celebrity in the audience.
I didn't notice any celebrity. Professor Alderson.
Ah, the archaeologist. Apparently, one of his students is in the play.
Hathaway said he'd been on BBC4. What does he do?
People dig holes and he talks about what they dig up.
Where is the divine sergeant?
High Wycombe. Oh, joy. Oh, rapture.
Morning. Sorry to bother you.
I'm looking for a man called Simon Monkford.
I see. Sergeant Hathaway. Oxford Police.
Mr Monkford gave this as his address.
Oh, did he?
Well, I'm not sure... You do know Mr Monkford?
Yes. He's my brother.
Invite the sergeant in, Christine.
We've been lifelong friends since yesterday afternoon.
Thank you, Mr Monkford.
Is it about that business at the theatre?
No, not entirely,
but if you have anything to add to your original statement...
That's just it. I was reading about it in the paper.
Oh, may I?
It's a desperately sad story and I wish I could help,
but I was just watching the play.
Did you say there was something else you wanted to talk about?
Mm. Suitcases.
Suitcases?
Well...
I don't understand why you'd stay overnight in a hotel in Oxford,
when your sister here lives half an hour's drive away
and why take two suitcases for a single overnight?
Were you the lady in the blond wig?
May I take a look inside? Go ahead. They're not locked.
You're not very good at this sort of thing, are you?
Bless him, he's never been very good at anything.
I thought you should all know what's happening today.
After discussions with your director and the college authorities,
it's been agreed that tonight's performance will go ahead as planned.
We'll be making this area available all day for rehearsals...
May I say, on behalf of the company,
how grateful we are for the co-operation from Inspector Lewis and his team.
However, this remains a crime scene
and we reserve the right
to make a nuisance of ourselves at any time...
Who are you?
Amanda Costello. Now tell me what you're doing here.
I'm a friend of the family.
A student? I finished my degree two years ago.
She's a critic. A journalist?
Freelance. I'll work for anybody who treats me right.
Amanda's here to review the play.
And I'll probably write a piece about the production.
The show must go on. That always goes down well.
"Alas Poor Shylock." Is that you?
I didn't write the headline. That would be some cheapskate sub-editor.
But the rest? Substantially, yes.
Including the bit that says,
"The police are exploring a number of motives,
including the possibility that the murder could be linked
to artistic differences within the company"?
That's pure invention.
The official police statement never even mentioned motives at all.
It simply stated the fact of the murder. Nothing more.
Should are police are ruling out artistic differences
as a possible motive?
These people have work to do.
You and I will find a nice, quiet corner
and you can tell me all about your friends in the family.
Without the aid of that tape recorder in your bag.
- He's good, isn't he? - So is she.
I scored that thirty-all.
You'll be held in custody pending further inquiries,
though I guess you're probably familiar with the procedure.
Yes. Only the names change and each time I'm a little older.
And you've got to find a murderer.
You say you're a friend of the family. Tell me about the family.
Where would you like me to start?
Start with Richard Scott.
What have the others told you?
That he was heavily in debt, apparently, because of a drug habit,
and determined to seduce any woman who came within reach.
Sounds about right.
Did nobody mention the thieving? Why don't YOU tell me about that?
It sort of blew up at the Edinburgh Festival.
Things went missing from dressing rooms and digs.
Whoa. Can you be more precise about these things?
Money from wallets and handbags.
A couple of mobiles. Phil Beaumont's laptop.
Did anybody report this? Not as far as I know.
I was reviewing ten shows a day, so I only know the gossip.
Tell me about the gossip.
Somebody challenged him about it.
It turned into some sort of fight in the bar at the Assembly Rooms.
A fight between? Rich and Rezvani, our token Iranian.
How do you fit into the family?
When I was here, I won the Student Journalist of the Year award.
The last couple of years I've been freelancing in the big bad world out there.
I started as a theatre critic.
But you'll turn your hand to a murder story
if it's in the family. Professionally, I have no choice.
OK. That's done you and Richard Scott.
Maybe you'd like to turn your eye on some of the others.
Like?
Emma Golding. She seems to run the show.
Emma's brilliant. I think she's too big for Oxford.
But don't tell Denise Gregson I said so. Emma's her blue-eyed girl.
This is Professor Gregson,
who also plays landlady to a lot of the students?
Waifs and strays are her speciality.
Mind you, some of them refer to it as Alcatraz.
I must rush. People to catch up with. Tales to tell.
See you later, maybe. Sure.
Who's your new friend? A journalist. She wrote that.
Trustworthy? Absolutely not.
Good. How was your conman?
Fifth rate. He's sitting in a cell while we check his previous.
There might be a lot of it.
He's a sort of professional charmer. Takes one to know...
Lewis.
OK. I'll be there.
Richard Scott's mother has arrived.
Thanks, Mrs Scott.
Why do people die before their time? It's not right.
I know that very well.
Oh, I suppose you would in your line of work.
(I suppose.)
When he was little...
Richard was always dressing up in funny clothes.
At parties and such.
Funny clothes and silly voices.
Did you know about his way of life here in Oxford?
Not really.
I haven't even been to the house.
He let us come and see him in the plays.
But that was all.
I didn't mean the plays.
If you mean the drugs,
yes, I knew about that.
I think it started as a kind of Dutch-courage thing.
He was actually quite nervous about going on stage.
Well...
He was nervous about a lot of things.
He wasn't really at home with other people.
And it sometimes came across as...
..aggression, I suppose.
A sort of...
..defence against the world.
Well, we all need that from time to time.
But even so...
My son was a mess, Mr Lewis.
But he didn't deserve this.
He deserved a better...
..ending.
I think we all do.
Thank you for... Thank you for listening to me.
Hello, Professor Gregson.
Do come in. Thank you.
Through here.
As I said, my husband grew up and left home
and it seemed a pity to waste such a big house.
So you filled it with students? Yes.
This was poor Richard's room.
Where did he get his computer? The V&A?
It's an old one I blagged for him.
What happened to the laptop he stole in Edinburgh?
I wasn't in Edinburgh. As far as I'm aware, nothing was ever proved.
I'm an old-fashioned liberal. Innocent until proved guilty.
Is that why you called him "poor Richard"?
They're all children when they come to Oxford. Some of them just can't handle it.
Trust me, Richard was one of nature's victims.
He certainly is now.
Phil Beaumont says he lives in "an airing cupboard" here.
A touch of hyperbole, but he is a writer.
I can show you, if you like. Please.
He used to share a double room here with Emma, when they were a couple.
And then, when they split...
The room at the top of the stairs. He doesn't keep his door locked?
He doesn't believe in private property,
therefore doesn't believe in locking doors.
Why did he drop out? Phil's a throwback.
He thinks the entire universe is a capitalist conspiracy against the working class.
He even calls it "ca-pit-alist".
It's rather endearing in a way.
Does he really have an allotment? Yes.
I think it belonged to his uncle.
Richard used to tease him about it.
He'd say, "I know you want to get in touch with your proletarian roots,
but you don't do that by growing carrots."
So, can I ask you, is Mr Gregson still around?
Yes, he's still in Oxford, but he's not called Gregson.
I kept my own name when we married.
And he kept his own name? Professor James Alderson.
He should be on your list. He was at the play yesterday.
Arrived late, of course.
Ladies and gentlemen.
For reasons you will all be aware of,
the part of Shylock will be played tonight by Joe Myers.
But we are dedicating this performance
to the family,
friends
and the gigantic, but sadly unfulfilled talent
of the late Richard Scott.
We thank you. CLAPPING
In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
It wearies me.
You say it wearies you.
But how I caught it, found it or came by it...
..what stuff 'tis made of,
whereof it is borne,
I am to learn...
'Hello. Hello?'
Hello. 'Hi, is that Sergeant Hathaway?'
Yes. Can I speak to Inspector Wallis, please?
'What's it in connection with?'
He's listed as the arresting officer in a case involving Simon Monkford.
'Yeah. Yeah. That's right.'
Am I right in assuming Mr Monkford operates under different names?
'Yeah. Hold on.'
Hello?
Is your name Shylock? Shylock is my name.
Of a strange nature is this suit you follow,
yet in such rule that the Venetian law cannot impugn you as you do proceed.
You stand within his danger, do you not?
Aye, so he says.
Do you confess the bond?
I do.
Then must the Jew be merciful.
On what compulsion, must I? Tell me that.
The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.
'Tis twice blest.
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest.
It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown.
We've got our version of the story of your life.
Tell me your version. It might save us a lot of time.
Thrown out of school. Well, two schools, if we're being pernickety.
Thrown out of Oxford.
Tried the military.
I had a little misunderstanding over mess funds.
Failed as a racing driver. Failed in the City.
As you can see, I'm not desperately good at petty crime, either.
But always non-violent. I'll say that in my favour.
What about the five-year gap?
There's a gap of five years in your record.
I ran away to Canada to start a new life.
Why?
In simple terms, because some nasty men were chasing me.
Canada is a long way away and the Canadians are nice people.
And how was your new life in Canada?
Depressingly similar to the old one.
AUDIENCE: Bravo! Bravo!
Well done.
Bravo!
Well done. Bravo!
Bravo. Well done.
Well done. Superb!
I've no idea what you're going to write about us
and this is not to be construed as a bribe,
but we're all going for a drink at Prospero's Bar.
I wouldn't miss it for the world. Brilliant.
Emma, that was lovely. Thank you.
You are coming to Prospero's, Phil?
If somebody else is paying.
Professor Alderson? Will Denise be there?
She's meeting us there.
I'm not sure I'm grown up enough. Come on. Come for a bevy!
..the logistics of putting on a production of this size...
OK. Honestly? Honestly?
Quite good. Quite?
No, I think that in the second act...
A top-up?
Everyone.
First of all,
thank you for a wonderful performance under difficult circumstances.
But, before we do anything else, I'd like to propose a toast.
To our dear departed Richard Scott.
May he rest in peace.
Peace will be a new experience for him.
To Richard. To Richard.
Well, well.
Another front-page story on the way?
Trust me, this one will run and run.
WOMAN: 'What was the name again?' Simon Monkford.
Also known as Sean Matthews.
'OK. Got that.'
He would have been with you in Toronto from January 2003 to January of this year,
if he's telling the truth, which is a 50:50 shot.
'What time is it over there?'
What, here? 'Yeah.'
Erm, one-ish in the morning.
'Don't you guys sleep?'
No, no. We never sleep. We always get our man.
Except when it's a woman or...
an occasional transsexual. What?
'Let me see what I can do. I'll get back to you.'
I appreciate that. Thank you.
Hathaway.
Yeah, I'll be there immediately.
Do we know who it is?
Amanda Costello. The journalist.
Alas poor Amanda.
It's the small hours of the morning and you were still at your desk.
I was waiting for the Royal Canadian Mounted Police to return a call.
Tell me later. Let's go to work.
Hi. The story so far?
The barman brought down the empties,
saw the body and called the police.
Cause of death? She's been strangled.
With?
Well, it's a bit primitive, but probably a piece of string.
Sounds very definite. Still round her neck.
And I found this.
"I will lead them up and down."
Another Shakespeare quote?
Puck. A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Someone is playing games with us.
Scott was accused of stealing and there was a fight.
All highly theatrical. Yeah, there's a reason for that.
I'm still trying to work out who was sleeping with who and in what order.
We can eliminate one possibility. Make my day.
Amanda Costello. She gave the play a four-star review.
What does that eliminate?
That one of the cast overheard her phoning in her copy to the paper,
didn't like what they'd heard, so decided he'd have his revenge.
Or her revenge.
What century are you living in?
Journalists don't phone in copy any more.
They do it electronically on their BlackBerries.
Did she have a BlackBerry? Had it with her at the theatre.
Where is it now? I've no idea.
It wasn't with the body and it wasn't in her room at the hotel.
Strikes me it would be worth finding.
The trouble is, these actors,
they're like some old-fashioned criminal gang.
Close-knit. Incestuous.
The cardinal sin is grassing on your mates.
Like the police force.
I'll pretend I didn't hear that.
I'll be back in an hour.
Terry Bainbridge.
You edit the student paper? One of them. The best, naturally.
Amanda Costello was a previous editor?
Yeah. Yeah, it's weird. She was in here yesterday afternoon.
Doing what?
Checking up on some stuff she wrote while she was here, she said. No idea what.
Were you at Edinburgh in the summer?
No. Erm...
I had a holiday job in Skegness.
But she stirred things up a bit, didn't she?
It's what she did best. Stirring.
Her speciality? Mm.
I can show you.
I've been checking out her files for the obit.
There's one of her reviews.
Joe Myers in Richard III.
"Joe Myers played the King
as if somebody else had already played the Ace."
That's very clever!
Stolen from George Bernard Shaw, I believe.
She always said stealing was all right if you stole from the best.
Do you have anything from Edinburgh? Yeah.
Emma Golding took two productions to the Festival.
A modern-dress version of Timon of Athens reset in Beirut.
And a new play by Phil Beaumont.
The lad who dropped out?
Let me show you.
It was called The Road To Nowhere.
What was that about?
No idea. And I did see it.
But what Amanda wrote was,
"We were promised a cross between Harold Pinter and John Osborne."
"We were given a cross between Harold Steptoe and Sharon Osbourne."
Oh, I bet that went down well with the troops.
She also had a good nose for dirt.
She wrote an anonymous column called Gossip From The Forest.
This was her finest hour.
"All is not well with one of Oxford's dream couples."
"We hear that the police were called to a domestic incident
involving two of our most eminent academics."
"Who, we wonder, will get custody of the spade?"
The spade?
As in archaeology? This is Professor Gregson and Professor Alderson?
Yeah.
What was their reaction? I have no idea.
Your guess is as good as mine or maybe better.
Apparently Amanda said last night she was waiting on something big.
Any idea what that might have been?
No idea, but it would have been investigative journalism.
Also known as "muckraking".
Five years ago, your brother went to Canada. Yes.
He says he was on the run. He's been on the run all his life.
Canada is a long way to run. He could have come here.
He... Erm...
He had some sort of breakdown.
A nervous breakdown?
Are they still called that or is it post-traumatic stress?
Anyway, it was something like that.
So, there was a trauma?
He was a bit vague about it.
But it was some sort of car accident.
He was driving and I think he might hae hit somebody.
That made it worse. He was proud of his driving.
He wanted to drive racing cars for a living at one point.
Where did this happen?
In London. Somewhere in the West End, I think.
Do you remember the date? Oh, yes, easily.
It was my birthday. December 19th.
The phone rang. I heard his voice. I assumed it was a birthday call.
It was obvious something was wrong.
Sorry. Erm... Thank you very much. You've been very helpful.
You're very thoughtful.
It's because I'm thinking.
Serves me right for asking.
Can we come in?
Of course. This is common land. It belongs to the people.
So, what can I do for you?
I've got some nice potatoes, but the carrots need another week.
We'd like you to tell us about Edinburgh.
It's a big city in Scotland.
You had a play on at the Festival there.
Amanda Costello blasted it out of the water
and last night she was murdered.
If writers murdered critics because of bad reviews, there'd be no critics left.
It might be worth trying...
We're detectives and we detect a possible motive.
Why would I wait till now?
If I was the murdering kind, I'd have done it then,
before she could wreck any more careers.
Did she wreck yours? Don't be daft.
I haven't got a career. Yet.
Do you use a lot of string?
As much as is necessary. That's a weird question.
- Weirder ones where that came from. - Excellent. I like weird.
We're told Richard Scott stole your laptop while you were in Edinburgh.
Nothing was ever proved.
He was a light-fingered bastard with a drug habit, but...
I've gone back to pen and paper.
Good enough for Shakespeare, good enough for me.
We asked you whether you actually liked anyone in Oxford.
You said you'd get back to us.
Shall I do it now? Go ahead.
We all arrive here as innocent, fresh-faced 18-, 19-year-olds.
Then the place corrupts us.
It's a rat race, it's poisonous
and it doesn't make for very nice people.
Is that why nobody cries?
Sorry?
Two of your friends are murdered. Nobody seems very upset.
I'm not crying because I didn't like either of them.
As for the rest...
I don't know, perhaps weeping isn't considered cool.
The people on these allotments, are they nice?
Yes. Because we're only competing with the earth
and we know we're going to lose.
Where to?
We're going to a pile of dirt beside the A34.
Here's someone else who uses string. Well, there's a lot of it about.
Sorry to disturb you while you're busy, Professor Alderson.
Don't worry.
In this line of work, time is not of the essence.
You can probably guess why we're here.
Did you go to the party after the show last night?
Yes. I popped in for half an hour or so,
just to give moral support to young Antonio here.
Good afternoon, gentlemen.
But you didn't go to Professor Gregson's afterwards?
No, no. I'm persona non grata.
No doubt Denise has given you the stock line,
"I grew up and left home."
It has been mentioned.
We were also told that your marriage was mentioned
in the gossip column of a student newspaper.
Police were called to an incident.
We were shouting at each other and a neighbour got worried.
In our defence, we were both under a lot of pressure at work.
You have to get your ration of firsts.
It's not just primary schools that have league tables these days.
We all have to tick our boxes, don't we?
Did these arguments ever get violent?
We were sometimes near the edge. But we never tipped over.
Ah, thanks, Sue.
Cheers. Great.
I've asked for back copies of all the student papers
with contributions from Amanda Costello,
including anonymous gossip.
A busy girl. Oh, yeah.
A muckraker in the great tradition.
Dishing the dirt on fellow students and members of staff.
Also, a thief.
She stole some of her best lines.
"Joe Myers played the King
as though someone else had already played the Ace."
George Bernard Shaw.
PHONE RINGS
Inspector Lewis.
Yeah, he's here.
Hang on.
The Metropolitan Police want a word.
Hi.
Did you find out anything?
Well, it's the answer I expected.
I'm just not sure whether it's the answer I wanted. Thank you.
What's all that about?
Simon Monkford. Conman. The early years.
Is that all?
Yeah. For now. There are complications.
Inspector Lewis.
Ah, right.
OK. We'll be right there.
There's been a break-in at Professor Gregson's house.
Anyone hurt? Apparently not,
but there's a bit of a mess.
You stay here. Carry on with these.
You're better at all this than I am.
What? And you're better at messes?
I have my moments.
Oh! Sorry, sir.
They seem to have targeted my study.
Nowhere else? Nowhere else.
I don't lock my door, so once you're inside the house,
it would be alarmingly easy.
Who else has keys to the front door?
All the people who live here and who have lived here in the past.
There must be dozens of keys round Oxford.
Do you have anything valuable?
A computer. A CD player.
Some of the books, I suppose.
We'll have our Forensics people check it over.
When they've finished, maybe you can let us know
if there's anything vital missing.
They were obviously looking for something. Any idea what it was?
None whatsoever.
Is this connected with these ghastly things that have been happening?
Chances are.
Horrible. Amanda was my student too.
Really? Was she brilliant?
Oh, yes, in her own way.
Damaged as a human being, but totally brilliant at her work.
Afternoon.
Five years ago,
on December 19th,
you were a driving a car along Oxford Street in London.
The car was being used as a getaway vehicle
following a robbery on the premises of a building society.
The car did, indeed, get away,
but not before it mounted the pavement, hitting a woman who died later.
It was you driving, wasn't it?
Yes.
Did you ever wonder about the identity
of the woman that you killed?
Honest answer. No, I didn't.
I thought it would be easier to deal with if she remained anonymous.
Well, her name was...
Mrs Valerie Lewis.
And she was married to Inspector Robert Lewis,
my boss.
So maybe you'd like to deal with that.
Hi. All right?
Come in.
Oh. What's this? Hot news from High Wycombe?
In a sense, yes. I need to ask your advice.
Isn't that Inspector Lewis's responsibility?
It's about Inspector Lewis.
Tell me.
Simon Monkford, the conman that we have in custody,
he was driving the car that killed Mrs Lewis.
Oh, my God.
You're absolutely sure about this? Mm-hm.
The only legal question is whether it's murder or manslaughter.
That's not the only question.
Should I tell him when he's halfway through a murder inquiry?
Why not?
The last time I mentioned his wife, he jumped down my throat.
He's made it very clear his marriage is a total no-go area.
He doesn't talk to anybody about it.
I think it all depends on the state of your personal and professional relationship with him.
Hm. Are you not sure what that is?
Well, not always, no.
Why is that, do you think?
Well, he's a lovely guy.
Everyone likes him. He's just very...
..private.
You get the feeling there's a lot going on in his head
which he doesn't want to share.
And you're not exactly a breezy extrovert yourself, are you?
No.
Maybe the two of you should join some encounter group,
get in touch with your true feelings.
That was a joke.
The serious answer...
There's only one reliable way to find out about any relationship.
Test it to destruction.
Excuse me.
Oh, it's him. It could be your moment.
Hello.
I'll be right there.
He wants a second opinion on a mess.
Good luck.
Thanks.
What's the problem?
I need you to take a look at this. Something about it doesn't stack up.
I'll be in the kitchen taking tea with the inmates.
So, you're pretty sure nothing was taken?
Seemingly not. I might miss the odd paperclip or pen in a day or two,
but, as far as I can tell, it's totally without meaning or purpose.
Like life.
Maybe somebody's making mischief for its own sake?
The sort of pranks students get up to.
Haven't we got as much mischief as we can cope with at the moment?
Is that the sort of thing students do, make a mess of your study?
They do some mad things, but I have to confess, this is a first.
If it were anyone who lives here, they'd be instantly homeless.
Have I walked into an Agatha moment? An Agatha moment?
Agatha Christie. She gathers all the suspects together in one room
and the detective says something really clever...
And the murderer makes a run for it.
Generally through the French windows, which we have not got.
Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you,
but I'm going to finish my tea and disappear back to work.
I need a drink. You've just had a cup of tea.
It was a herbal. You do need a drink!
So, what did you think of the mess?
Not the real thing. Exactly.
It's the kind of mess you can tidy up in half an hour.
Not a professional job, either.
There was some Dresden untouched, a couple of watercolours on the wall
and what looked like some valuable first editions.
A proper vandal would have smashed all the Dresden
and peed all over the floor at least.
Conclusion?
A gentle warning for the good professor?
Unless she did it herself
and depicted herself as a victim, perhaps.
Anyway...
What have you been up to all day?
Ploughing through old student journalism
and trying to make a case for Joe Myers as our killer.
The Myers that's taken over playing Shylock?
Why?
The quotations - from Hamlet and A Midsummer Night's Dream.
Myers is the only one in our gang who was in both productions.
Each time Amanda Costello singled him out for special attention in print.
He murders two people and leaves clues incriminating himself?
Doesn't make sense.
So then someone is trying to stitch him up.
She gave me two lousy reviews, therefore I murdered the woman?
Is that the case for the prosecution?
Are you a lousy actor?
Two agents who came to see the show the other night want to sign me up,
so, no, I don't think I'm a lousy actor.
So why was she so vindictive?
She fancied me and I didn't fancy her.
Would it help us to know who, if anyone, you did fancy?
I don't know whether it helps, but the answer's Richard Scott.
And was your love requited?
Is that relevant to your inquiries?
We have no way of telling.
Occasionally.
I could make out a case. A gay lovers' quarrel.
Joe Myers kills Richard Scott.
Amanda Costello makes an educated guess as to what's happened
and confronts Myers with it at the first-night party.
He says, "Let's talk about this quietly in the cellar."
But you'll say, "Did he fetch a piece of string with him, on the off-chance?"
What do you reckon? You usually have an opinion.
Sir, there is something else you need to know.
Sounds exciting.
You're not getting married? No.
Sir, it's about Simon Monkford.
What about him?
How long have you known? Since the call from the Met.
Is that what that was? The final confirmation.
Date. Place. Time. Why the hell didn't you tell me then?
Because the last time I mentioned her, you made it clear I wasn't to.
This is different. This is purely professional.
How can that be? What were you frightened of?
That I might go barging in and batter the living daylights out of the man?
I'd be tempted under the circumstances.
Maybe I'd be tempted too, but it wouldn't happen.
Shall I tell you why? Why?
Because you're a good cop and you'd stop me.
As it is, all you've proved is, you don't really know me.
You don't know yourself either.
Do you want to speak to him? No.
I just want to look at him.
That's him? Mm-hm.
I don't know what I expected to see.
So...bloody ordinary.
She deserved better.
Come on. Let's do some proper work.
Do you realise all our student suspects have websites?
Of course I have.
Time was you had a fountain pen. Now you have a website.
Emma Golding's comes complete with a copy of her dissertation.
According to Professor Gregson, the finest piece of English prose
since the King James Bible.
What's it about?
"20th-Century Drama - a View from The Lower Depths."
Will it keep you quiet for an hour?
At a rough guess, I'd say 40 days and 40 nights.
I'm popping down to the theatre. With a view to what?
We're up against a conspiracy of silence, even though they talk all the time.
I'm going to have a one-to-one with the only one that shed a tear.
I'm on in a minute.
I'll be very quick.
What is it? A few routine questions?
Questions, certainly.
You'll have to tell me whether they're routine or not.
Like, for instance, when Richard Scott was murdered,
you were the only one that showed any emotion.
The rest...
Not a tear between the lot of them. Why was that?
Shock, I suppose.
It's the first time I've been close to somebody who's died,
so I cried a bit.
I suppose the others were trying to be cool and sophisticated. I'm no good at that.
I didn't like Richard that much,
but when you've acted with someone, it makes a sort of bond.
Probably like you and your sergeant.
Is that silly? I've heard sillier things.
What really happened in Edinburgh?
Sorry?
We've heard all sorts of half-baked accounts
of your adventures at the Festival.
Sex, drugs and rock and roll, I guess.
Richard stealing from you all and getting thumped for his pains.
What was it that really mattered?
It wasn't about sex or drugs
and I don't know for sure why it was important,
but everybody went ape-shit when Phil Beaumont's laptop disappeared.
Phil being the one who sits in the corner watching everyone,
writing it all down.
Five minutes, Isabel.
I'm sorry.
May I go to Venice now? Of course.
Have a nice time.
Oh, Robbie, erm...
Did he tell you...about Monkford?
Eventually.
Did you know all the time?
He consulted me about...
whether to tell you and when.
That was thoughtful.
So, are you two still friends?
Interesting question.
We're colleagues.
"Work mates", they'd say in the Northeast.
We don't swap comics every week,
and he listens to weird music, but he's a damn good cop.
He's just a bit young and, I suppose,
enigmatic, he's...
..private.
He says much the same about you.
That's ridiculous. There's nothing enigmatic about me.
So, tell me, honestly, are you OK?
Honest answer. I don't know.
So I'll just throw myself into my work and see if that makes me OK.
You just walked in on a eureka moment.
You've found something?
I have. This is from Emma Golding's dissertation.
"Those eminent men and occasional women who dwell on Mount Olympus,
sharing profound philosophical reflections,
invariably do so with their eyes
looking up to heaven, whether they believe in its existence or not.
Once in a while, why do they not cast their eyes downwards
to the shanty towns and slums at the foot of their blessed mountain
from which flow their security and prosperity?"
Takes a bright lass to write stuff like that.
Mm-hm.
Where does eureka come in?
About a year and a half ago,
Phil Beaumont wrote an article in the student newspaper
saying that, basically, "all life is shit",
but he did end with the self-same paragraph about Mount Olympus.
Therefore what?
Phil Beaumont helped Emma with her dissertation?
They're a couple. Why not? What couples do.
What about if he wrote the entire thing?
Hm, an academic star, with plans to run the country one day
if nobody stops her,
and the piece of work that gave her lift-off was...what, stolen?
We don't know, but it could be a valuable blackmailing weapon.
"Sorry, darling, you stole the whole thing,
but I won't mention it again, if you chuck a little cheque in the post."
You reckon that's what Richard Scott did? It's possible.
What about Phil Beaumont?
He knows what really happened.
Why is nobody murdering HIM? Well, maybe he is careful.
And Professor Gregson. What about her?
Well, if it comes out that people have been awarded doctorates
for other people's work,
her career would soon start to unravel.
Sergeant Nicholson called from Sheffield?
Yeah, that's his mobile number. He wants you to call him back.
In the morning.
Right. I'm ready to talk to Monkford now.
Come with me? Yeah.
Inspector Lewis.
Ah.
Would it help if I said
I'm...truly sorry?
No. Nothing helps.
In which case, may I offer you a proposition?
Try me.
I was in the theatre the afternoon that young man was murdered.
I saw various people leaving at the...time in question.
I'd be happy to give evidence, if that would help you.
What would you get out of all this?
The nice warm feeling that comes with being a good citizen?
Drop the murder charge and I'll plead guilty to manslaughter.
You're trying to do a deal with me? It's not that simple.
I'll tell you what's simple.
We put you in court, as a prosecution witness, with your record,
any defence counsel would tear you to shreds inside 30 seconds.
Sorry. I simply thought... You don't have the right to think!
We'll decide on the charges.
I don't do deals with people like you.
Take me away from this man. Sir.
So, have a look at that and come and see me again on Thursday.
Gentlemen.
You told us that Emma Golding is a brilliant scholar.
She is. That her dissertation is the best you'd read.
The greatest thing since... Please. Don't say "sliced bread".
Sliced bread is an abomination. I will not have it in my house.
Did she write it herself?
That really is a grey area.
I don't see that it is at all grey.
Did she write it? Or did Phil Beaumont write it?
They were a couple at the time, so he probably had an input.
It's very difficult for university teachers these days.
We're more familiar with OUR difficulties.
I've just set some first-years an essay on Thomas Hardy.
They'll go straight onto the net, Google Thomas Hardy
and find 10,000, 20,000 entries.
The bright ones will pick and mix all the best bits
and throw in the odd spelling error to make it look authentic
and I'm supposed to sort out the original thinkers from the looters.
But I will say this about Emma's dissertation.
None of it was stolen from the internet.
It was all her own work. Or Phil Beaumont's work.
As I say, he probably had an input. You must ask THEM.
We're going to.
Hi, guys. What can I get you?
We'll have two coffees.
But, before you do that, tell us something.
Did you write Emma Golding's dissertation?
Yes.
- All of it? - Yeah.
Because I'm a better writer than she is.
I'm just about the best on the block.
Isn't that against the rules? Probably.
Mind you, Oxford works mostly on unwritten rules,
so there might not be any!
I just thought it was funny.
Emma and I were a couple at the time, soulmates, or so I thought.
I was dropping out anyway, so it seemed like fun to take the piss out of the system.
Sticking up two fingers as a farewell gesture.
- Soulmates? - Yeah. For a while.
But I finished the dissertation and she found herself another soulmate.
Amazing, really.
That would be Richard Scott? Yeah.
Who stole your laptop in Edinburgh. So I'm told.
You'd have said there wasn't enough evidence.
- But the dissertation was it? - Yeah.
Along with two unfinished novels, a stage play,
my diary and a couple of dirty limericks.
Your diary?
Yeah. My Oxford journal.
Is that something you were planning on publishing?
No chance!
It was a bit... you might say, "warts and all".
I even named the warts.
Was there anything there that could have led to Richard Scott's death
or Amanda Costello's?
I suppose it's possible. It was a secret diary. That was the point.
But you'd have to know where to look.
Where should WE be looking? MOBILE RINGS
Well, like the man says in the movie, "Follow the money."
Hathaway.
We'll be there in ten minutes.
Do you still want those coffees? Yeah.
But not today. Good choice.
Where are we in ten minutes? Back to base.
Forensics have come through with some interesting conclusions.
We know that Richard Scott was murdered with that knife.
It was a really good clue, finding it sticking in his chest.
But now we know that Amanda Costello was strangled using this string
and both weapons have identical traces of soil on them.
From Phil Beaumont's allotment? I wouldn't bet against it.
So, whoever stabbed Richard Scott was wearing gardening gloves?
It's a persuasive idea.
But you still come back to who takes a piece of string to a first-night party,
on the off-chance of needing to murder someone with it?
But this is the icing on the cake.
The two quotations from Shakespeare we found next to the bodies
were both written on an old-style typewriter with a carbon ribbon.
Phil Beaumont had a typewriter in his room.
Yeah, but he never locked his room, so anybody could have used it.
We need to talk to Emma Golding.
Get her take on cheating her way to a doctorate.
Ask her about her ex-soulmate.
And I think... What?
I think we're being too nice to these kids.
We should be behaving more like coppers.
Shake their tree. See what drops out.
Hello, Emma.
I hope it's important. I'm meeting an agent in London.
And we're investigating two murders.
Shall we walk together?
Tell us about cheating your way to a doctorate.
No idea what you mean.
Your last major piece of work was written for you by Phil Beaumont.
Can you manage on your own?
Or have you lined up another soulmate already?
You said this was a murder investigation
or have you diversified into copyright law?
We're exceedingly versatile and very thorough.
Meaning?
We're going to start by searching Professor Gregson's house from top to bottom,
not forgetting the places you live, work and the places you have fun.
And what on earth do you hope to find?
We want to test out Amanda's big story.
Well, here's my big story.
I don't give a toss about my doctorate or Oxford University.
If this agent comes up with the right deal,
I'll be out of here by the end of the week. All right?
We get the gist.
Thank you for sparing the time. MOBILE RINGS
Let's go and frighten the children.
Inspector Lewis.
Oh, Sergeant Nicholson.
Yeah. Thanks for getting back to me.
Listen, a simple question.
A couple of years ago, when you were down here in Oxford,
you were called out to a domestic incident, a couple of academics.
Yeah. Can you tell me anything you remember about that?
SIREN WAILS
Any joy? No typewriters.
But I did find some intriguing bank statements.
No sign of Beaumont's laptop either.
Professor Gregson rang.
She said she assumes there will be receipts for anything you take away.
Where is Professor Gregson? Is she teaching?
Teaching? Most unlikely.
We need to look somewhere else.
I think I can guess. I should hope so.
Professor Gregson.
It would be foolish to deny it.
Perhaps you'd like to tell us what you've been doing here,
while Sergeant Hathaway does his duty and searches the tool shed.
I suppose this is the moment when I say, "I can explain everything."
I hope you will. It's very simple.
I borrowed some secateurs from Phil to prune the roses in my garden
and I decided to return them in person.
Phil Beaumont lives at your house!
You could have returned the secateurs over breakfast.
I know. It sounds illogical, but...
Was this a sudden impulse or more premeditated?
You've lost me there.
Did you decide, when you got up this morning,
"This afternoon, I'll return Phil's secateurs" -
and therefore take them with you to college?
Or did you decide much later?
Maybe Emma called to say we were going to search her house.
Odd. You sound so like a policeman.
That's because I am a bloody policeman.
I found these.
What's more, I think we were meant to find them.
Shall we start again?
You're the "bloody policeman".
I am a policeman.
But I'm operating on a pretty short fuse, so be warned.
I've had to put up with a lot of Oxford bollocks on this case, theatrical jealousy.
Maybe sex. Maybe drugs.
But it isn't, is it?
It's about one thing only.
Your academic career.
Emma Golding has just completed her doctorate here, hasn't she?
Even though you knew it was Phil Beaumont who wrote it.
Now Phil, who despises this place anyway, doesn't give a toss.
Neither does Emma.
She'll be out of here by the end of the week.
Who needs academic qualifications to work in the theatre?
The only person that cares about any of this...is you.
Is it wrong to care about my students?
I would have thought that was a good thing.
You paid Phil Beaumont £5,000 to keep his mouth shut.
That, I suggest, is not a good thing.
We've seen his bank statements.
Unfortunately, the whole story was in Phil's diary on his laptop.
So when Richard found it, he realised he had you right over a barrel.
I hate to state the obvious...
but I'm not the murdering kind.
Not according to Sergeant Nicholson of Sheffield.
Who the hell is Sergeant Nicholson of Sheffield?
When you met him, he was a humble PC, here in Oxford.
He was called out to a domestic erm...
disturbance.
A report from one of your neighbours.
Apparently, you went for your then-husband with a knife.
He being a nice, liberal-minded Oxford don
decided not to bring charges. Well, he always was spineless.
Let's assume that you murdered Richard Scott and Amanda Costello.
Why Amanda?
Because she was one of the family, one of your blue-eyed girls.
She knew what you were up to.
But that wasn't much of a story, was it? A bit of academic naughtiness.
Maybe a couple of paragraphs on page seven.
But the minute Richard was murdered,
straight to the front page.
She had a good, big story.
She boasted about it at the first-night party.
All I have ever done is try to help my students.
If you like students that much, why try to implicate them?
Why try to pin it on Phil Beaumont?
Or Joe Myers, come to that,
with those ridiculous quotations from Shakespeare?
Theoretically, if I were a murderer,
I'd do all I could to implicate other people.
It's basic common sense.
What happened to Beaumont's laptop?
It's in the river.
ISABEL: The quality of mercy is not strain'd.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven upon the place beneath.
It is twice blest.
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest.
It becomes the throned monarch better than his crown.
Simon Monkford, you are indicted on one count of manslaughter.
Do you plead guilty or not guilty?
Guilty.
Please be seated.
Thank you...for coming with me.
That's OK.
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