Yeah. That's fine.
Hobson.
When shall we three meet again?
My diary says 8:30 at the Turl Club. Why? Problems?
Well, the traffic's nose-to and I'm not even out of town yet.
Fog.
Ellen, it's fine. Don't worry. You've saved me a call.
Late arrivals from this afternoon's pile-up.
"Denn die Toten reiten schnell."
Trick or treat? Rarrrrh!
Look at you lot.
Fantastic, eh?
Go on. Help yourselves. Just a couple each.
- Maddie? - Mm.
Clerval's not back yet, is he?
He's going to meet us there.
I think.
..have you thought about that?
- I mean, have you thought about that? - Morning Tide?
Yes. Dammit. Morning Tide! Morning Tide!
I'm sorry. That's all right, then. So long as you're sorry.
Have you seen Clerval? No.
Five minutes, Ms Van Tessel.
He's coming. He's going to be here.
Rowena?
Uh.
Wooo-aaa-aaargh!
Treat?
I'm afraid not.
You've reached the voicemail of Dr Ellen Jacoby. Please leave a message.
Hi. It's me.
I'm sorry. I've just got a call-out.
You two press on. I'll be as quick as I can.
Boys.
Doctor, you're looking very...er...
I was aiming a little higher than "er", Sergeant.
But it's the thought that counts.
Shall we?
The body was found just before half-eight.
Just a quick once-over and that's your lot.
Going somewhere nice? I do have a life, you know.
A small one, but it's my own, and I'm running late, so...
You think I'd be used to it.
Not like this.
Strangers, sure, you can find some distance, but...
How did you know her?
Flatmates.
We were at college here together, the same year.
Here.
Oh, thanks.
We were due to meet tonight, believe it or not.
Oh, God.
Ellen will be wondering where we are.
Ellen Jacoby.
When she's in town, we try to get together, to meet up, the three of us.
We're going to need the twelfth man in, with Dr Hobson knowing the deceased.
Dr Rawbone's on his way.
Aberdeen Angus?
Beggars can't be choosers.
So, who was she?
Professor Willard. A scientist.
Attached to the Institute For Molecular Biology And Human Genetics.
Ligeia Willard?
You've heard of her? In a purely professional capacity.
There's been threats. Stem-cell research.
Not overly popular with some of the more spiritually certain.
Well, I know you said "late", but...
Laura, what is it?
What's happened?
* Lullaby
Is she back?
I've no idea. I've only been home ten minutes and I walked in to all this.
Where the hell have you been? Hm?
Something came up.
It wouldn't have killed you to phone Rowena and let her know, would it?
Have you any idea how upset she is? What's it got to do with you?
She's my friend, Victor.
I don't want to see her get hurt.
Ow! Sorry.
Careful.
What happened to you?
Some Hearties from Beaufort thought it might be larks to start lobbing champagne flutes.
You'd better get a shot.
Tetanus. Ooh, yes. Thank you, Dr Clerval.
So, what's to drink?
DR RAWBONE: Cause of death?
Well, it's a close-run thing.
First among equals, blunt trauma to the left parietal bone,
with a resultant fracture and massive subdural haematoma.
Someone hit her on the back of the head.
I do know some big words, thank you.
What about the rest?
A ten-inch length of wooden dowel, approximately one inch in diameter.
Sharpened at one end, driven into the victim's chest.
A friend of Dr Hobson's, I understand.
Taking it hard, I'd imagine.
Is that it?
You'd think anything else would be de trop, wouldn't you? But, no, there is something more.
I recovered a foreign object from the victim's oral cavity.
It's a bulb of garlic.
A full moon last night, wasn't it? It was.
Some sort of lunatic, do we think? A stake through the heart, garlic. I mean, that's...
Vampires, ma'am?
So, anything on the CCTV from the car park?
Fog. Lots of it. Pretty useless.
Starting preliminary interviews at ten. James says there'd been threats to do with her work.
From the devout to the doolally. Some genuine, well-argued ethical reservations, but the rest...
The Green Ink Brigade. A whole group of them keeps a daily vigil outside the Institute.
Oi! Oi, you! Move back! Right back.
Come on.
What the hell's going on? I had to put my car on a meter.
Rufus?
I'm so sorry, Nicolae.
When did you last see Professor Willard? Around seven thirty.
I popped my head round the door to say good night.
How did she seem?
Nothing bothering her?
No personal problems or... Not that I'm aware.
I gather she was divorced. Anyone in her life at the moment? Anyone we should be talking to?
Ligeia didn't invite confidences, nor share them.
I admired that.
It's stem cells you're involved in here. Is that right?
With a view to the treatment of progressive, degenerative illnesses. That's right.
Parkinson's. Alzheimer's. Motor-neurone disease. MS.
Important work. We like to think so.
But not without its critics.
Professor Strickfaden?
Science is about the pursuit of truth.
That always threatens someone.
Did you know Professor Willard well?
She was a valued colleague.
Dedicated.
Diligent. A brilliant scientist.
And personally? Any change in her demeanour recently? Nothing worrying her?
Besides the threats?
I think you are better to go and talk to the crazy people
that attack us every day as we come and go to work.
Rest assured, Dr Belisarius. All avenues of inquiry are being pursued.
Of course.
Now, now everything is being pursued with seriousness.
But if the police had done their job properly from the first, Ligeia might still be alive.
No, Rowena, I didn't do it. Well, it wasn't like that last night, Roddy.
And I know it wasn't me.
Maddie? Don't look at me.
It'll just be Victor messing about.
Not guilty.
That'll be a first.
And what is that supposed to mean?
We should call the police.
Why? It's just gibberish.
Murder. Help me.
Maybe, like, there was a murder done here, in this house, maybe, like, when it was built...
I'm not sleeping in a house with a ghost in it. We need like an exorcist.
Yeah, right, cos I'm sure they're listed in the local small ads.
Actually, Rowena, it's erm...
funny you should say that.
Dr Belisarius says he last saw Willard mid-afternoon.
I suppose an alibi'd be too much to hope for. Of course it would.
What about Strickfaden? Drove to his father's at Kidlington.
Will he confirm? Unlikely.
Strickfaden says he's in his nineties, housebound, memory is...
Convenient.
Not for his father.
Shame! Shame! Shame!
Let's have background checks on this lot while we're at it.
There's a lady over there to see you, sir.
I was waiting to go on.
Go on where? At the Old Chapel Theatre.
I'm there all week...giving readings.
You're an author, is it?
I am published, yes, but, for the most part, it's a conversation with the audience.
I convey messages to them from the other side.
You're a medium.
I prefer "sensitive".
So, what was it you wanted to tell us, Ms Van Tessel?
You were waiting to go on and what?
You had a feeling? A premonition, was it?
Something along those lines? She was stabbed, wasn't she?
I felt it. It was...
here.
We're very grateful for your information, I'm sure.
If you'd give your details to Sergeant Hathaway, somebody will come by and take a statement.
I see. Well, bye, then.
Oh. She didn't suffer.
You've lost someone, someone close.
Ms Van Tessel... It was very quick.
There was no suffering, just release.
I don't wish to be rude, madam, but there is a very serious offence called "wasting police time".
Is that what you think I'm doing?
I don't doubt you're very well intentioned, miss,
but take my advice.
Leave death to the professionals. All right?
I was looking for Dr Hobson.
And you are?
DI Lewis.
Oh, come in.
Dr Jacoby, would it be? Yes.
Laura said you'd want the details for Ligeia's ex.
I'm afraid they're on my machine at home.
Oh, it's all right. His number was on her mobile.
Oh.
Would you know if she was seeing anyone at the moment?
There had been someone, I think, up until quite recently.
But...Ligeia said she was off men.
And you were all due to meet up last night. That's right.
I left work about half-four, home, changed.
I set off just before six.
Anyone can confirm that?
Work will tell you what time I left.
Otherwise...
A sad and long-standing singleton, I'm afraid.
Not through any failing on your part, I'm sure.
Laura said you were a sweetie.
Am I right in thinking that you were at college with Professor Willard and Laura?
We shared a house together.
There were five of us.
Three girls and...
two smelly boys.
You're up.
I'll fix some coffee.
What were the results of Rawbone's postmortem?
They'll tell me at work. Are you up to it?
What else am I going to do?
It's not like we were sisters.
Ligeia was just...
someone I used to know.
I should have been a better friend.
Oh, hell!
Oh, damn!
Yeah? What?
Where are you? I'm at Willard's flat.
What's that noise? The bloody burglar alarm!
What does it sound like? Enter her birthday into the keypad.
Yeah. I've tried that.
Listen, get onto ARD Home Security, will you?
Let them know I'm on the scene.
Are you going in?
What are you planning to do?
I thought... I mean, you're welcome to stay here.
Would you mind? No. Of course not.
Do you think we should call Alec?
I mean, they were, you know...
20-odd years back. Are you going to seek Pete out, as well?
Well, there'll be a funeral and... Eventually.
I'm sure she'd want Alec to be there. Ellie.
Didn't you ever read the instructions?
"Never return to a firework once lit."
The code is 30-71, if you need it again.
30-71? Right.
I got the engineer to write it down. Aide-memoire.
My "memoire" doesn't need any "aide".
No. Of course. I just find it helps to jot things down.
Well, jot this down.
Golf. Four. Two. Two.
A partial registration of a dark-coloured saloon.
Noticed parked out there, last night, from just before eight to just gone nine.
The woman next door had trouble last year at Halloween, with kids throwing eggs at the door.
So, this year she decided to keep a lookout? Yeah, I've seen her twitching at her window.
The driver was a white male. Thirties. Tried the bell and drove off.
I'll get onto it. Yeah. Run it past Traffic.
What's the word on Mr Willard?
In the middle of the North Sea. Oil rig Lima Bravo. He's a risk engineer.
There's a daughter, isn't there? Yeah. Chloe.
She lives with his parents.
And Ligeia was happy about that?
Well, presumably. Scotland's a long way. Less upheaval for the kid.
Maybe.
No.
No, there's nothing.
Perhaps I might see the rest of the house?
Of course. Follow me.
No.
Yes. Something happened here.
Oh, God. Why my room?
Something terrible.
A long time ago.
- There's a young man. - What's his name?
Maybe it's Casper. Sssh, Roddy.
There's pain.
And great sadness.
That's why he can't pass over.
His life force is bound by grief...
..and memories of...earthly attachments.
You may let go.
All is well.
Go.
You may depart.
There.
Is that it? Yes.
He's gone now. I don't care.
I'm not sleeping in here tonight.
It's all right. Sometimes they just need a helping hand to pass over.
This house is at peace now.
Can you feel it?
No. Just going through the background checks that Uniform got us on the protesters.
Willard's flat. Double-checking. Making sure we didn't miss anything.
Hm?
Oh, erm...
The usual odds and...
..sods.
Minor form.
Drink-driving. Shoplifting.
Nothing...
..serious.
No, I'm still here.
Rowena?
Aaaargh!
I didn't think it was important.
That you were having a relationship with the victim?
Had had.
Which this torn photograph would seem to confirm.
We...er...
kept it quiet.
Ligeia didn't want everyone knowing our business.
But er...I think Strickfaden knew.
What makes you say that?
He's been so kind to me since...
..since what happened to Ligeia.
Why did it finish?
I asked her to marry me.
I thought that's what she wanted.
Marriage.
Children.
She turned you down?
Yeah? Lewis.
Next, she says she wants to end things.
Says she could never make me happy, which, of course, means I could never make her happy.
Was there someone else? She said not.
- And I believed her. - At what time?
This is wrong. Laura? What...
When the address came through, I...thought I'd got the wrong number.
I lived here.
We lived here. Ligeia, Ellen and me.
This was our house.
Her friend is murdered and now this, in the house they shared?
Devil's advocate. Any other investigation...
This is Dr Hobson we're talking about. I've known her for more than ten years.
Worked with her. Maybe that's the problem.
So far, she's the only link you've got.
Come on. You don't really think she... -No.
I don't think. I follow procedure.
Get a statement. Her movements last night and Halloween.
Hi, I'm just...
I could erm... take her statement.
No.
It's all right.
Probably better coming from me.
Thanks.
There's no sign of a forced entry, but then they don't lock the front and the back.
Too much coming and going, I expect. Four flatmates, including the victim.
Between two and four this morning, to save you asking.
Have to wait for the PM for anything else. First impressions?
Throat cut from left to right.
Finger marks around the lips and chin.
I think we can discount suicide.
What he lacks in bedside manner, he more than makes up for in basic incivility.
Get house-to-house started.
Have a quick word with the housemates, then formal interviews down at the station.
Separate cars. Get off. It's my house.
What the hell's going on? Mr Clerval, is it?
The police were in again.
Everything all right?
Nicolae?
Yes.
Good.
Absinthe. Makes the heart grow fonder.
What do you reckon to this, sir?
The girl who found the body was babbling to Uniform about a ghost leaving a message.
They even had your friend round, apparently. What friend?
Ursula Van Tassel or Tessel. She was here?
Rowena was so freaked out, she spent last night on the sofa. Now what do you make of that?
That would be one of those rhetorical questions you're so fond of.
Ah, but, seriously, Ursula knew that Ligeia had been...through the chest.
It couldn't be an educated guess, could it?
A murdered woman. What are the odds it's going to be a knife attack?
Better than 50%. It's a numbers game.
As for all that stuff about, "Is there anyone here with a name beginning with a J"...
Yeah, it's a cold reading. I'm familiar with the technique.
Go on, then. Read that. Make yourself useful.
LIG I WI LLAR - Ligeia Willard.
MURDER - Murder. LHOB - Laura Hobson.
Help me. What about the rest?
Well, this is new, apparently. It wasn't here last night.
Find Mary Gwilliam.
Who's Mary Gwilliam?
I was hoping you might be able to tell me.
Sorry. It doesn't mean anything.
Might your friend know, Dr Jacoby?
Ellen?
Well, it's not a name I've ever heard her...
Sorry.
This was Ligeia's room.
Come on. I'll buy you a drink.
Then I think you need to tell me as much as you can about your time here.
I'll go and have a word now, sir.
Sergeant Hathaway. Oxford Police. I wonder if I might have a word, miss.
Mrs.
Corwin. Charlotte.
You're with that lot, then, are you?
May I?
I didn't see anything last night. I'm sorry.
But the one before... Yeah?
No.
No, I can't imagine it's anything.
I was up feeding Harry and...
looking out of the window and...
The nursery is at the front of the house.
One of the boys from across the road was coming in. That's all.
What time would that have been?
It was the two o'clock feed, so anything between two and half past.
Halloween, I suppose.
Do you know which one it was?
At first, I thought it was the speccy one, but...
Char?
Oh, here. What's with all the Old Bill round the weirdos?
Erm, this is my husband.
Vince, this is Sergeant...
Hathaway. Yeah.
What's wrong? It's not Harry, is it? Oh, no, no. He's fine.
That's the baby.
One of the students has been killed.
I'm sorry, I'm going to have to...
Weirdos, Mr Corwin?
Well, Goths or Emos or whatever it is they call themselves.
How well do you know them?
Not at all really. We've only just moved in, so...
But you haven't had any trouble? They have some loud parties.
We wouldn't mind but for the baby. I did have a word. Not that they took much notice.
OK, well, look, thanks for your time. If there is anything that strikes you...
Sure. ..just ask for Detective Sergeant Hathaway.
Have you tried Mr Jeffreys next door?
Yeah, I rang the bell. Be at work.
Usually gets back about six, if you want to try again.
Thanks very much.
Is this your van?
Why? Need some plumbing doing? Were you at home last night?
No, I was on shift, up at the new superstore in Kidlington.
I've got the docket in the van. Check it. No, you're all right.
Who else was with you?
Ellen mentioned a couple of lads.
Oh, erm...
Peter and Alec.
Peter Hawkins and Alec Pickman.
Are you still in touch?
I saw Alec a couple of years back, on The Broad, not to talk to, I was driving, but...
Where is he now?
Around. From all I heard, he'd given up poetry to become an artist.
He read English.
He took a gap year and then did his DPhil.
To be honest...I think the only reason he stayed on was because of Ligeia.
They were an item?
The item.
For her part, anyway.
Alec was...
mad, bad and lock up your daughters.
And Peter Hawkins? I wouldn't have a clue.
When did you see him last?
Now you're asking...
Erm, a couple of days before the after-finals bash.
I came down with mumps, of all things.
"So, Cinders, you shall not go to the ball."
My dad picked me up and drove me home.
By the time I'd recovered, we'd all gone our separate ways.
So you didn't see him again?
I called him a couple of times. I never heard back.
People slip through the cracks.
If you're not careful.
Alec Pickman?
DI Lewis. DS Hathaway. Oxford Police.
Ligeia?
It was in the paper.
I understand you and Professor Willard were close when you were younger.
"And all the world is green." I haven't seen Ligeia in...
Oh, it must be 20 years. Who was it who put you on to me?
If I might ask, sir, where were you on Halloween?
Was it a week night?
Er, drunk and incapable. Unless, of course, it was the weekend, in which case I'd have been...
Oh, yeah, drunk and incapable. And last night?
I would refer my Honourable Friend to the answer I gave some moments ago.
Speaking of which...
Ah!
Can I interest either of you?
No. Thank you.
"My candle burns at both ends. It will not last the night.
But O my foes and O my friends, it gives a lovely light."
Cheers.
Do you know a girl called Rowena Trevanion?
No. Not had the pleasure. Sorry to say. Why? Is she pretty?
She was. Only she was killed last night, at the house on Nethermoor.
Nethermoor?
When were you last there?
'86.
You're digging up Pete Hawkins and the rest of the Wyrd Sisters, then, are you? Collect the set?
The Wyrd Sisters?
They're the two girls who used to live with us.
A pet name for them.
Ellen Jacoby and Laura Hobson.
'Scuse. Need some air.
Does the name Mary Gwilliam mean anything to you?
Whatever you might have heard,
there are some women in Oxford with whom I've not been intimately acquainted.
In truth, I fear I've not always been as kind to the ladies as I should have
or, indeed, as they deserve.
They do have this...
..unreasonable need for someone to...rely on.
Have you noticed that?
I can't say I quite get it. Do you?
Actually, I rather suspect you do. You look the dependable sort.
Petey was a bit like you.
The type that thinks girls need to ask to be kissed.
You know, the kind of sap whose shirt is always wet through at the shoulder with tears.
"Oh, Petey, you're such a good listener."
Bluh-hlala...
Ugh. You didn't like him?
He was the best friend I ever had.
He carried a torch for Ligeia all the way through our time at Oxford.
She never gave him a second thought. Not like that, anyway.
Any idea where we could find him?
Living with his sister in...
Banbury.
The last I heard.
Christine. Came to visit once or twice.
A good-looking girl.
Is that it? Am I...erm... Am I in the clear or am I still "in the frame", as it were?
What do you think? I think you're a bit of a fraud, Mr Pickman.
A ragbag of bits of poetry and lines from old songs.
"A wand'ring minstrel, I, indeed,
a thing of shreds and patches, of ballad songs and snatches."
And half-cut at two in the afternoon. It's sad, isn't it?
Sad, love?
Tragic is what it is.
Well, we'll leave you to your picture painting, sir.
You're not planning to go anywhere?
Laura?
Hey.
What is it? Oh, nothing.
Nothing. I'm just being silly.
Oh, my God! Where did you find those?
Amongst my souvenirs.
My hair!
Call the fashion police.
Where's Petey? Probably taking the photograph.
Oh, God. Look at us.
So young.
So full of...
How do we get from that to this?
Life, my dear.
We've not done too badly.
You're happy, aren't you?
I just keep looking at Ligeia and thinking... Sometimes, I got the feeling...
Here. Don't upset yourself.
Oh. Sorry.
Where did you get to? Not fair to drink you out of house and home.
So...
Fancy a nightcap?
Better make it a night top hat.
I went to a gig at The Bear.
What time did that pack up?
Around half-eleven, twelve.
I...er...
Too much to drink.
Ended up on the bench in the Botanic Gardens.
Alone?
It was that woman coming.
If we hadn't had her round...
We should have just left it alone.
How did you find her? Victor knew her.
How was that? I don't know.
A flyer in the local paper, I think.
It was just supposed to be a bit of fun.
What about Halloween? I understand you were meant to attend a party in Ambrose Quad.
I said I might go. In the end, I didn't fancy it.
So what did you do?
I went to the theatre.
The Old Chapel. There was a seancey-type show.
What time did you get home?
I don't know. Around midnight.
I had a couple of drinks after the show.
Is that how you knew Ursula Van Tessel?
And how was everything in the house between you all?
No arguments?
No.
We all get on. Everyone liked her.
What would make someone do that?
That's what we mean to find out.
They seem decent enough, ma'am, but the alibis for all three are pretty shaky.
Last night and Halloween.
Particularly that Clerval lad.
What about Dr Hobson?
You have taken a statement?
It might be worth taking a formal statement, sir, purely for elimination purposes.
Did you want something?
We got a match on that car parked outside Willard's the night she was killed.
Oh, aye? Lover-boy, was it?
I had been refused some trifling additional expenditure.
So I accessed the Institute's accounts. Accessed, Doctor?
There was no criminal intent. I simply hoped to prove my argument.
By chance, I came upon an irregular procedure.
For the last five years, each department's annual underspend has been set aside
and drawn on to make payments to a clinic in Jeddah.
For what?
Embryonic stem cells.
The Human Fertilisation and Embryology Act
is quite clear about the use of illegally obtained stem cells.
So why did you take this to Professor Willard?
She'd been the last person to access the file.
I wanted her advice.
And who would have the authority to OK a payment for something such as that?
- God said, "Let there be life." - God said, "Let there be life."
- The natural choice is God. - The natural...
I have to assume that your benefactors would take a dim view
of this Institute being involved in criminal activity.
That is, if you'll forgive me, quite a naive assessment.
The bottom line for Morning Tide is just that.
It's about profit. It's about results, saving lives.
A breakthrough here could help hundreds of thousands, perhaps millions of people,
but we cannot make those advances without a ready and reliable supply of material.
Look, we're close.
We're so close.
Every month that goes by puts the availability of treatment back by...a year.
All those patients, each day, becoming more and more lost to their loved ones.
If it were in your power to save them, what would you do?
Is that how Ligeia Willard felt?
I tried to talk her out of it, but she was resolved to go public,
to bring the sky down upon all our heads.
I believe she had lost her faith.
Her faith?
In science.
Yeah, I've got an address for Mary Gwilliam. The only one on the electoral roll. Cowley.
Dead about a week, ten days.
There is some evidence of...
What is one supposed to call it now?
"Enhanced interrogation technique."
She's been tortured? So it would appear.
Cause of death would appear to be asphyxia.
You can see where the ligature has bitten into the neck.
It's even driven the chain of her St Christopher or whatever it is into the flesh.
She seems to have been a nurse, sir.
This one was taken at St W, Perth.
Scotland? Or Australia.
So, who was Mary Gwilliam?
I've got Hathaway looking into her background now, ma'am,
but, according to the neighbours, she was a retired nurse.
Divorced. No kids. Kept herself to herself.
Connections to the other victims?
Beyond the message on the fridge at Nethermoor Avenue? Nothing.
It's my feeling that the murderer was getting a bit jumpy that we hadn't found her yet.
So what is he trying to say?
And where does Dr Hobson fit into it?
We don't know she does, for sure, yet, ma'am.
All right. Well... Keep me posted.
Oh, Robbie.
I've had the Chief Constable on.
How did Rowena's postmortem go?
Nothing new.
The formal ID was...
Never gets any easier, does it?
The parents?
Very decent.
Distraught, obviously.
They did say she'd been dating that Roddy lad for a bit, before he hooked up with Madeleine.
No residual ill feeling?
Apparently not on Rowena's part.
She'd set her cap at Victor lately, according to the mother.
Set her cap at?
It's an expression.
Perhaps they used to listen to the wireless together, sir,
or step out once in a while to the picture house.
Right.
Just for that...
Mary Gwilliam's valuables.
Bagged and tagged for the Exhibits Officer, when you've got a minute.
Thanks. You're welcome.
Any joy with this hospital, St W's?
50 different Williams, at least.
There's literally hundreds, from St Waccar to St Wulsin,
calling by Wendolinus, Winifred, Wilfretrudis and all points in between.
None so far with a hospital named after them in Perth, Scotland or Western Australia.
So far.
There is... There's one other thing, sir.
I've been going through Mary Gwilliam's outgoing calls.
And?
Well, a couple she made recently, to the same number, stand out.
One was made seven months ago and one was the last call she ever made.
You don't remember speaking to her?
That's because I didn't speak to her.
When was this meant to be? Last call was three weeks ago. October 8th.
23:10.
Nine seconds in duration.
No.
There was...
I did get this weird message, but that was aeons back.
The first call. March 17th.
Twenty-past four in the afternoon. One minute and eight seconds in duration.
Well, I don't know if it was this woman, but it was a woman's voice.
I can't even really remember what she said.
Something along the lines of she'd found my number in the phonebook
and if I was the Laura Hobson she was looking for, I'd know what it was about.
Anything else?
There was... It sounds a bit odd, but I'm pretty sure she mentioned Rochester.
- Rochester? - I've never been to Rochester.
You never called her back? No. I just...
I assumed she'd got hold of the wrong Laura Hobson.
Look...
I know this is going to sound...
Can anyone can vouch for your movements the night Professor Willard died?
Robbie?
It's procedure.
No. There isn't.
I left work about six-thirty... and went home.
I got ready and I was just about to leave for the Turl Club when I got the call to attend...
..Ligeia.
I phoned Ellen and left a message to say I'd be late and I drove straight to the Institute.
Anything else?
Do you want me to account for the night that the girl got killed, too?
Please.
I took a valium and had an early night.
Ellen was watching TV downstairs. She'll tell you I never left the house.
She didn't.
You had to follow it up, sir.
That makes me feel a whole lot better.
So where to now?
"Collect the set", Alec Pickman said.
So far, the only one we haven't had sight of is Peter Hawkins.
Oh.
Uniform sent me a last-known address.
My brother was never the same after he came back from Oxford. He seemed changed.
Haunted.
In what way?
Our mother died when we were ten, Inspector,
of what, I have since come to learn, was an autosomal dominant inherited prion disease.
FFI.
Or, to give it its proper name, Fatal Familial Insomnia.
There's no cure and it is invariably fatal.
It's caused by plaques developing on the thalamus.
The area of the brain responsible for the regulation of sleep.
Yes.
Everyone has bouts of sleeplessness, but for someone with FFI,
it may herald a downward spiral, which leads inevitably to madness and death.
Are there no tests he could have had? Not then.
Peter and I simply grew up in the knowledge that our blood was in some way tainted.
That one day we might go the same way as our mother.
Can't have been easy.
Well, one lives with it.
Or dies with it.
Even if only one parent has the gene,
any offspring have a 50% chance of inheriting the disease.
So...
About a year after he came back down...
..Peter drove out to Wytham Wood.
And in the early hours of the morning...
..ran a hose from the exhaust.
I don't suppose you'd have held onto any of his personal effects still.
My father closed and locked this room 19 years ago.
No-one has entered it since.
You'll find Peter's diaries in the bookcase.
He was depressed, yes, but...
Well, there was something else.
Sadness.
Regret.
For what?
I don't know. We were sitting looking at the fire, one afternoon.
Suddenly, he turned to me and said, "Would you still love me if I'd done something terrible?"
You didn't press him on it? We gave each other space.
I knew he'd tell me when he was ready.
A week later, he was dead.
You look very alike.
Was he older or younger?
Younger.
By 20 minutes.
James Hathaway, you are a dolt.
I've been a bit of an idiot, sir.
I've been looking for hospitals in Perth.
As requested.
But it's not in Perth.
It's of Perth. You know, the medallion that Gwilliam wore, it's not a St Christopher.
It's St William, sir. St William of Perth.
Should I be sitting down for this?
Thank you.
William is this...wild youth, but upon reaching manhood,
he decides he's going to change his ways and devote his life to the service of God.
Anyway, one morning on his way to mass, he comes across a child,
abandoned on the steps of the church and he decides to adopt him.
And this is going somewhere, is it?
In the summer of 1201,
he sets out with his son on a pilgrimage to all the holy places in England.
Having spent three days in Rochester,
on his way to Canterbury,
his son strikes his father round the head, cuts his throat and robs him.
A local madwoman comes across the corpse
and lays a garland of flowers, first on William's head, then on her own.
Whereupon, she's miraculously cured of her insanity.
St William of Perth, aka St William of Rochester.
The patron saint of adoptees and orphans.
And all this gets us where?
Well, up until the late '80s, the St William of Perth Foundation ran a number of hospitals,
including Holmwood Park, situate Abingdon.
It was built in the 1870s, as an asylum,
before being acquired in the '50s and run as a private hospital by the St William of Perth Trust.
It's the asylum graveyard.
The developers are in the process of removing the remains for reburial elsewhere.
And this was a private hospital?
So far as I've been able to make out, mixed use.
And that's a polite way of saying what?
I think admin is this way.
And this is where Mary Gwilliam worked?
It was used as a place where the well-to-do could send those relatives
deemed for some reason or another to be not quite up to snuff. Out of mind, out of sight.
The St William of Perth Trust welcomed all with open arms.
Open chequebooks, more like.
Hang on.
This way.
We're after Mary Gwilliam's staff records.
Or any colleagues who were here at the same time.
Yeah. If it will point us towards a link with Dr Hobson.
Right. The best of luck. I'll leave you to it.
Why? Where are you off to? A trip to the theatre.
How am I meant to get back?
I'm sure Uniform will be happy to give you a lift.
I wouldn't leave it too late, mind.
I reckon this place would get quite spooky after dark.
* To be what I know I'm not how
* Even if I could tell you
* I wouldn't say
* Hey there, darling
* Take my blood
* But let me fly away
* Keep my love
* But come back another day
* Another day
* Take my blood
* But let me fly away...
VAN TESSEL: Our loved ones are not lost to us.
They merely wait in a place where there are no goodbyes.
Thank you.
So what's the trick, Ms Van Tessel?
Oh, it's you.
I've three people murdered, two of whom you seem to have been involved with.
Two?
You attended a seance at a house on Nethermoor Avenue.
There was a young girl there called Rowena Trevanion
and the next morning she was found murdered.
What?
No premonitions?
No voices in your ears?
I can't explain the gift, Inspector.
You came to us to help publicise your little sideshow.
That was my agent's idea.
Coming to see you was mine.
It was a genuine impulse.
I've been trying to call you. What is it, man?
There's been another attack. She's alive, just.
Not Laura? No, sir, Dr Jacoby.
I heard screaming and I just... started running.
I found her up the towpath about a hundred yards...
face down.
I thought she was a goner, but...
Did you see anyone else?
No. Thank God.
No. I was shouting as I went, I suppose, trying to scare the bastard off.
They must have heard me coming and... thought better of it.
Alec.
Hey.
When can we speak to her?
They're keeping her in an induced coma until the brain swelling goes down. A couple of days.
It's possible that she might not remember anything of the attack, sir.
On the upside...
There's an upside? What with all the excitement, I forgot.
Mary Gwilliam. I managed to trace a colleague. And?
Gwilliam leaves Holmwood Park in 1987. Dismissed. Suddenly. Under a cloud.
My contact wasn't specific,
but was under the impression that her licence to nurse had been revoked.
So get onto the College Of Nursing.
They'll call me back tomorrow.
What we do know is she reappears on the radar in the late '90s
working as Co-Director of the Rochester House Foundation,
an agency specialising in rehoming Romanian orphans in the West.
You mean, an adoption agency? Of sorts.
But no questions asked, if the money was right.
Don't stare, Alec.
Don't.
I know I asked before about Mary Gwilliam, but it seems she worked at Holmwood Park Hospital.
Holmwood? What? You know it?
Oxford is not for everyone, Inspector.
Hand-in-hand with a first-class education goes a first-class nervous breakdown.
Holmwood, amongst other things, is where you got sent if you went off your head.
Victor, we've been looking everywhere for you. Where have you been?
Victor?
Are you all right? Of course I'm not!
Come on.
Hey, hey, hey! Get off!
Just leave me alone. Yeah?
Did Peter Hawkins ever spend any time at Holmwood?
Not to my knowledge. Why?
It's just his sister said he was a changed man when he came down from Oxford.
"Haunted" was the word she used.
Any idea what she might have meant by that? Haunted?
I don't know.
But aren't we all? Aren't you?
The heart is an unquiet house.
What did you mean, when you said "amongst other things", with regard to Holmwood?
Well, dons of a certain age muttered of it as a place where girls would go, who...
What was the phrase my tutor used?
Erm...
"Found themselves in difficulty."
But you never had any cause to call on their services?
Even if I had, I'd think twice before mentioning it.
There's a rather disagreeable whiff of the Presbytery about you, Lewis.
I'd hate to lower your opinion of me.
In that particular, sir, you might find yourself a bit hard pressed.
Oh. I see. It's like that, is it? Are you...?
No. No, of course not. No. She likes 'em a bit wilder does our Laura.
Sir?
You'll find a uniformed officer posted alongside your boat until this is over, Mr Pickman.
I think everyone was a bit in love with him back then...or infatuated.
Some of us move on.
But Ellen...
Ellen?
I thought...
No. Alec broke it off with Ligeia as soon as she'd sat her finals.
It's the one decent thing he ever did for her.
We all knew there was someone else.
It wasn't till years later I discovered it was Ellen.
Did Ligeia know?
Well, it was all water long under by then.
They were close.
I certainly wasn't going to open that particular can of worms.
Laura...
We've known each other a long time.
As colleagues and...
Well, friends, I hope.
You know you can rely on my discretion.
There's nothing else you can think of that I ought to know?
Peter Hawkins's diaries would seem to bear it out, sir.
Only as far as he's concerned, Alec's new squeeze was Laura Hobson, not Ellen Jacoby.
I know. Why would he think that? I don't know.
Unless that's what Ellen Jacoby told Ligeia, to spare her own blushes.
That's assuming that Hobson is telling the truth.
Any reason to doubt it?
Look, sir, I can understand that this is difficult for you.
Oh, do you? Really? You don't seem to be having too much trouble with it.
I'm just trying to keep a sense of detachment, that's all, the same as any other case.
There is one other thing.
Hawkins is a fairly diligent diarist, but come the end of his time at Oxford, he just stops dead.
He doesn't pick up his pen again until a couple of months before he died.
Listen, make a note of the date when Hawkins breaks off from his journals, all right,
and check it against when they had this finals bash.
You think it has a bearing? I do, yeah.
And let's get the Clerval lad in.
See if a line-up can't shake his confidence.
Mr and Mrs Corwin, sir.
Ah. Detective Inspector Lewis. Thanks very much for coming. Much appreciated.
Charlotte won't actually have to talk to him? No. A one-way glass.
Are you all right with that, Mrs Corwin?
We've been up with Harry. Colic.
Ah, my sympathies. Me and my wife had terrible times with our eldest.
Shall we?
Not bring him with you, then?
Erm, no, no. Mum's looking after.
Sergeant Murray just needs a few details from you, Mrs Corwin. Date of birth. Home address.
18/03/86.
I'm sorry about this. I would let you go in with her, but rules of evidence.
No, sure. She'll be all right.
I don't suppose you've got a light?
You can't smoke in here, mate. Of course. Sorry.
I'm going to leave you with Sergeant Woods. Duty calls.
All right?
Toe the line, then, gents.
Those with glasses, please remove them.
Take your time.
So where did you get to last night?
I told you. Just knocking around.
Come on, Victor. You'll have to do better than that.
We've got two murders and an attempted
and you not able to give a straight account of your whereabouts for any of them.
All right.
Let's try Halloween.
You've made a statement to the effect that you were at the theatre
and you got home around midnight.
Yes.
But we've just had positive visual identification, Victor.
You were recognised by someone who saw you come back to Nethermoor Avenue
at two in the morning, so, which is it?
It's my fault.
All of it.
Rowena.
We'd kind of been seeing each other and...
And then I went to that show.
I hung around the bar afterwards and I got talking to Ursula.
Van Tessel?
Go on.
Well...
Well, I don't know, you know.
Just...
Had a couple of drinks and...
One thing led to another, did it?
Yeah.
So that's where you were till two in the morning?
And the night Rowena died?
You went back for seconds, did you?
There's something you should see, sir.
Bottom of the page and top of the next page.
What am I looking at?
Hospital Admissions.
Look here. Between the 16th and the 21st March 1986.
I don't und...
She never mentioned... There's more, I'm afraid.
Given the Mary Gwilliam connection to the Rochester House Foundation
and their particular line of business, I took a look at this.
The hospital register. 17th March. Bottom right-hand corner of the page.
March 17th.
male.
23:48.
Six pounds, seven ounces.
Hobson L.
It's a mistake. It has to be.
Check the next entry.
March 18th.
female.
00:35. Five pounds, 11 ounces.
Mother's name...
Hobson L.
She had twins, sir.
I don't believe this.
She'd have told me. I mean, I asked her outright if there was anything I ought to know.
She lied. She wouldn't.
Not to...me.
The Public Records have the birth of two children, John and Susan,
registered in Oxford in the first quarter of 1986.
Laura Hobson. Father: Peter Hawkins.
Mary Gwilliam helped her have them adopted, through the Rochester House Foundation.
But not together. She separated them.
Bring her in. Sir?
A formal interview down the station, under caution.
On what charge?
Obstructing a murder inquiry.
What do we think we're dealing with?
They are exacting some bizarre revenge against Dr Hobson? For what?
Giving her up maybe? Who knows?
Hathaway.
The Adoptions Registry.
Yeah. Go ahead.
The boy, John, went straight from Holmwood Park to a family called Moreau at Woodstock
and the girl, Susan, at around three months, to a couple, the Renfields, in Cowley.
You get an address?
For the Renfields, Susan's adoptive parents. But not for John?
No. The Moreaus moved from Woodstock in '89 and then just vanish off the electoral roll.
Went abroad maybe?
Tea. One sugar. Thank you very much.
Mrs Renfield?
DI Lewis, DS Hathaway, Oxford Police. May we come in?
Erm...
We haven't seen Susan for...
Well...
We had a bit of a falling out.
Sir.
What's all this about?
Is this Susan, Mrs Renfield?
Mm. Because we know her as Charlotte.
It's Susan Charlotte.
But she didn't like Susan.
But this is Vince Corwin, right?
Her husband. No.
No, that's John.
John Moreau.
Charlotte! Police!
Stay where you are! Vince!
Laura!
Williams?
Are you all right? Are you all right?
Yeah.
Ambulance and backup, please, 117, Valdemar Close. We have a man down.
See if you can get a trace on her mobile.
No. Nothing as yet.
Sir?
Why didn't she tell us what was going on?
Because she didn't know.
We should never have doubted her.
If anything happens...
Hathaway.
Yeah. Got it.
Hobson's mobile. Heading west out of Abingdon, 415.
Holmwood Park.
How could Dr Hobson not know what all this was about?
Well, Alec Pickman and Ligeia Willard were an item, right?
But straight after finals, he dumps her for somebody else.
Now, who would Ligeia Willard turn to for a shoulder to cry on?
Peter Hawkins. Right.
But I think that that closeness, her clinging to him for comfort, was more than he could stand.
I think he lost control. That terrible thing he couldn't get over.
He raped her? More.
I think he left her pregnant. With twins.
You saw Charlotte at that ID parade.
What was it they said? She'd been up all night with the baby?
That isn't why she's not sleeping.
She'd inherited Hawkins' condition.
Who are you? Why are you doing this?
What have I done to you? What did you do?
You gave us a living death.
How long can you hold your breath for, do you think?
Please don't.
Please.
Why didn't Ligeia Willard report it? Shame?
Who would Ligeia blame for what had happened?
I mean, in her mind, who had betrayed her?
So she just checks into Holmwood Park,
gives the children to Mary Gwilliam who handles the adoption, but the mother is registered as...
Don't!
Aaah!
Laura!
Get her out of there!
Sssh. It's James. It's James. It's James.
You're fine, you're fine, you're fine. You're fine.
You're fine.
Not nice being scared, is it?
To live in fear.
Is that why you did it?
We wanted her to know how it felt.
To make her suffer. Vince.
We gave her enough clues. Her friends.
The place she lived. Messages on the fridge. But she wouldn't admit it.
Laura Hobson isn't your mother.
Ligeia Willard was your mother.
He's lying.
She registered your birth in Laura Hobson's name.
He's lying!
Vince!
Vince...
Vince.
We lost three kids inside a year.
So, we had tests.
And that's how you found you were brother and sister?
That wasn't all you discovered, though, was it?
She can't sleep, can she?
She should never have had us.
We can get you help.
I'm so tired, Vince.
Oh, I know, baby.
I'm scared. Sssh.
It's all right.
Vince?
You can sleep now.
Vince.
We belong dead.
What do you think will happen to her?
Too ill to stand trial, I suppose.
Hospital. Madness.
Death in the end.
For the want of a nail. Eh?
If Vince's parents hadn't split up, his mum would never have moved him away from Woodstock.
He'd never have ended up in the same school as Charlotte.
None of this might ever have happened.
A simple twist of fate.
Nah, fate's too easy.
It's lies.
Family secrets.
If Ellen hadn't lied about her affair with Alec...
See you in the Trout later?
Laura... I can't save you, Alec.
I never could.
Do the right thing for once, eh?
Robbie.
Thank you.
If you hadn't... We did.
And we always will.
Blow the cobwebs?
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