ALAN CUMMING: This is "Masterpiece Mystery!"

Here!

(woman screams) Who will be head of the company now?

Really?

We're not suspects, for God's sake.

MORSE: I don't think that we've heard the last of it.

He could be violent, unpredictable.

POTTER: These always come with one of them.

A calling card, you might say.

I'm not a gold digger.

POTTER: You're not going in.

He's armed.

(gunshot) What a place.

You want to crack this thing?

Just watch your back here.

I would ask you in.

You hardly know me.

It doesn't feel like that.

CUMMING: "Endeavour," tonight, on "Masterpiece Mystery!"

(thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) ♪ In the still of the night ♪ ♪ I drift away ♪ (fire roaring) ♪ And in that twilight hour ♪ ♪ I hear you say ♪ ♪ We'll meet again ♪ ♪ As true lovers do ♪ ♪ But till we meet again ♪ ♪ I'll dream of you ♪ ♪ With every breath ♪ ♪ I dream of you ♪ ♪ With every thought ♪ (whistle blowing) ♪ I dream of you ♪ ♪ I dream you're mine ♪ (horn honking) ♪ Till the end of time ♪ ♪ Till then ♪ ♪ I'll dream of you, of you ♪ ♪ The moonlight doesn't thrill me ♪ ♪ The stars have lost their charm... ♪ (dog barking, milk bottles clattering) Morning, Mr. Clamp.

Letty.

Just the one-- airmail.

♪ ...sees me cry when you're not in my arms... ♪ Nothing today, Mr. Carraway.

♪ But then sometimes I find... ♪ (phone ringing) ♪ My own... ♪ Chigton 3782, veterinary surgery.

♪ ...peace of mind ♪ ♪ When I dream of you ♪ ♪ When I dream of you ♪ ♪ I dream of you.

♪ (gunshot) (dog barking in distance) (bugle plays) ♪ ♪ (people chattering) You're not dressed.

I'm going to cry off.

Bit of a head.

CLEMMIE: Nonsense.

Bit of fresh air put some color in your cheeks, do you good.

Curling up with a good book will do me better.

Pa won't like it.

Well, he'll have to not like it, then, won't he?

Have a wonderful time.

Hounds, please.

♪ ♪ (playing bugle, dogs barking) ♪ ♪ Aye-aye, matey, Doc.

What's the what?

Overdose, looks to be.

That'll be the fourth since August.

Three others across Division.

Choked on his own puke, has he?

Been at the keats again, Sergeant?

Yes, choked on his own puke, or asphyxia appears the most likely cause of death.

Furthers and betters once I've had a fillet.

Shall we say 2:00, Morse?

Oh, I can't-- I'm seeing a flat at 2:00.

I can cover for you.

Give you the gen, if there's anything comes up.

As you please.

Thanks.

Sergeant.

What's with the flat?

Hmm?

I thought you were at the Section House.

I'm just a bit long in the tooth for rugby songs and bare backsides in the hallway.

I need my own four walls.

Expect he could've done with a bit of that.

Probably had it once, in all.

Missus too, maybe.

Kids.

Who knows?

Keep your ear to the ground.

Hear anything else, you know where to find me.

♪ ♪ (shop doorbell jingles, car door opening) (dogs barking) (horse hooves beating) (dogs barking) (indistinct chatter) (horse neighing) Rup.

Rup!

(horse neighing) Bucephalus is lame.

Give me Old Glory.

Aww.

(phone ringing) MORSE: No ID on the victim.

But I found these.

Any leads on heroin?

That truck stop out on the Bainbridge Road maybe.

Lorries coming in from the continent.

Been a few rocker types mooching about.

Something and nothing.

RUPERT (voiceover): Is your father there?

Pa's horse has gone lame.

If you'd let him know when he returns, Mrs. Fairford, I'd be very grateful.

Yes, I think it might be quite bad.

Thank you.

Goodbye.

Sarah?

(bicycle bell chiming) Morning, Farmer Bell.

(engine fading in distance) (dogs barking) ♪ ♪ (indistinct chatter) (chattering, laughter) Mmm!

Sir!

Master Murray!

(horse nickering) Easy, old boy.

Easy, easy, easy.

Shh.

(various people calling "Pa!")

RUPERT: Here!

Here!

(crying) JAGO: Deceased is one Greville Creswell, boss, according to the local bobby.

THURSDAY: Creswell's Sweets?

They're out Chigton Green way, aren't they?

What, Milky Boy and all that?

Mr. Creswell owned the company.

The factory's a mile or so outside the village.

He lived at Creswell Hall, a few miles up the road.

Right.

Start the ball rolling.

He was Master of the Chigton Hunt.

His horse went lame, so he borrowed Rupert's, his youngest son.

THURSDAY: Doctor.

MAX: Ah, gentlemen.

One shot to the left side of the chest, which presumably knocked him out of the saddle.

Unlikely he'd have survived without urgent medical attention.

And the coup de grace to the head from point blank.

Shotgun?

Yes.

12 bore by the look of things.

Anything as to time?

2:39.

One of the balls smashed his wristwatch.

You make a start on the locals.

Particulars and preliminary alibis for now.

Who was where between 2:00 and 3:00.

Anything we should know about the family?

No, sir, all very well liked.

All got on, did they?

As far as I know, sir.

♪ ♪ (doorbell rings) Detective Inspector Thursday, Thames Valley.

Detective Sergeant Morse.

Murray Creswell.

How do you do?

My wife Clemmie, my younger brother Rupert, and his fiancée Sarah.

Our condolences.

Thank you.

Thank you very much.

Yes, it's been an enormous shock, as you can imagine.

THURSDAY: I'm sure.

Nevertheless, there are some questions we'll need to ask to find out who did this to your father.

Of course.

Is there a Mrs. Creswell Senior?

Ma?

No, Ma died six years ago.

Much missed.

At least she didn't live to see this day.

No.

No, there's that.

May I offer you some refreshment?

Tea?

Something stronger?

Not for me, thank you.

Can I start by asking you where you were between the hours of 2:30 and 3:00, say?

We'll also need to talk to the staff here.

But we're not bloody suspects, for God's sake.

I'm sure it's just procedure.

I was on my way back to the house with Pa's horse.

I suppose I got back here about half past 1:00, quarter to 2:00.

Walked Bucephalus round the stable.

I called Shepherd, the vet.

And that was about it, really.

MURRAY: Clemmie and I were out with the hunt, somewhere toward Pigstanton.

Was that the same for you, Miss... Clamp.

No.

I had a headache.

I didn't go out, stayed here.

I thought you said you went for a walk.

In the end, I went for a turn around the grounds, see if I could shake it off.

Next thing I knew, everyone was back.

Can anyone vouch for you?

I didn't run into any of the staff, if that's what you mean.

Did Mr. Creswell have any enemies?

No.

No troubles at work?

Good heavens, no.

Pa was a very fair employer.

Creswell's is a family firm.

We've always been taught to look on the workers as part of the family.

MORSE: We've heard talk of a possible takeover by Gidbury's.

Anything in that?

It wouldn't have been a takeover.

More of a partnership-- Creswell and Gidbury.

And how long would that have lasted?

Gidbury's would've sold us to Consolidated Foodstuffs the first chance they got-- an American firm.

Who will be head of the company now?

CLEMMIE: Really?

Is that something to ask today?

MURRAY: It's not something we've discussed.

We thought Pa would go on for a long time yet.

Ru and I both work there, but on different sides of the company, and... Pa had the final say in all things.

THURSDAY: There's Jago.

(engine stops) I'll speak to this vet, Shepherd, see if Rupert Creswell's story stands up.

Right.

♪ ♪ So, Greville Creswell.

No, he's not been formally identified yet.

Anything to go on?

Well, nothing that we want to see in the papers.

Do you know the place?

More or less.

Well, somewhere like it, at least.

If you want the real inside gen on Chigton Green, you could do worse than talk to Miss Ling, our advice columnist.

"Dear Worried Brown Eyes..." She's very good.

I'm sure.

If you could pass her number to PC Potter, the local bobby.

Only got a P.O.

box for her.

She's a bit of a mystery.

Values her anonymity.

Hmm, don't we all.

(knocks on door) Hello-- Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

Miss... Mrs. Fairford.

Won't you come in?

Thank you.

Is this about what happened with Grev Creswell?

It's all round the place.

No secrets here, I'm afraid.

Village life.

Yes, yes, it is.

That's Henry, my little boy.

Dad's with a patient.

I'll let him know you're here.

Oh, thank you.

I shan't keep you.

Dad, a policeman's here to see you.

Let's see-- I had lunch here at the surgery with Isla.

Mm-hmm.

But I was on my way to Mr. Swann's farm by about 2:00-ish.

And I'd left again by, what, about 3:00?

And I telephoned here to see if there'd been any more calls.

And that's when Isla told me about Bucephalus.

And do you know Mr. Creswell well?

Not really, no.

I've looked after their animals since we first moved to Chigton in '63, but I can't really say I know any of them.

Oh, apart from Sarah Clamp, of course-- I know her slightly.

How's that?

I used to have a small animal practice at Upper Pembury.

She has a cousin there, Rufus.

Nice boy, rather highly strung.

Anyway, he's done well for himself.

He's at Oxford now.

His mother had a very overfed Pekingese.

I must have run into Sarah once or twice over there.

Nice girl.

♪ ♪ Old Ezekiel says he saw Farmer Bell, Rennett Bell, making his way up into the Hangman's Wood with a shotgun just after half-2:00.

Anything between Bell and Creswell?

Not that I know of.

Ren's a moody sod at the best of times.

Take a run out there, have a word with Bell.

See what he was doing out in the woods.

You been out this way long?

Five years, more or less.

Decent beat?

I like it.

Nothing out of the ordinary.

Just people going about their business.

Oh, take the next left.

♪ ♪ Christ.

Call it in.

Call it in, Constable.

POTTER: Information Room from four two nine two.

Urgent assistance required at Bell's Farm.

You're not going in?

He's armed!

DISPATCHER (on radio): Do you require medical assistance?

MORSE: Hello?

Hello, Mr. Bell?

It's the police!

Is there anybody there?

I'm coming up the stairs!

(bird screeching) (Morse exhales) ♪ ♪ (exhales sharply) ♪ ♪ Looks to have taken both barrels in the back at fairly short range.

Massive hemorrhaging and heaven knows what damage to her organs.

Death would have been more or less instantaneous.

Between eight and 12 hours ago.

Well, she's in her work uniform.

POTTER: Yeah, she... She... she worked at Creswell's.

Well if she clocked on at 8:30, 9:00, that would make it 7:30, 8:00 this morning.

What about him upstairs?

Oh, no-- much later.

Three to four hours ago.

(dogs barking distantly) THURSDAY: He had a history of violence, you say?

Constable?

All right?

Yeah, yeah.

Just that... JAGO: You knew her?

Bad luck.

He was violent, Bell?

Yeah, but nothing like this.

Ren was just a brawler when the drinks were in him.

And never with women.

JAGO: So what do you make to it then?

Man kills his wife and then another bloke, usually only one reason behind it.

JAGO: And himself into the bargain.

What about her next of kin?

POTTER: Her brother's in the village.

Michael Murphy, the baker.

You want me to take you across?

THURSDAY: No, no, you're all right.

We'll manage.

Keep Sergeant Morse company while he finishes up here.

He'll run you to the village.

But we're done, aren't we?

Pays to be thorough, Sergeant.

See you back at the ranch.

MAX: Is this your sister, Mandy-Jane Bell?

♪ ♪ (shotgun shells clinking) (shotgun shells clinking) ♪ ♪ We know your sister worked at the sweet factory.

Is it possible she was involved with Greville Creswell?

Mandy was a wild girl, but I can't believe she'd carry on with anyone behind Ren's back.

And certainly not Creswell.

Can you think of anything that could have led her husband to do what he did?

No.

No, he must've gone mad.

POTTER: "Your wife is sleeping with Creswell."

To the point.

MORSE: It's not the first you've seen like that?

With the Happy Families card?

You get letters like this in any town or village.

These always come with one of them in.

Calling card, you might say.

How many is always?

Once a week or so.

Since when?

January maybe.

Started after Sarah Clamp's grandmother died.

Natural causes, the inquest found.

Only the Clamps got a letter to say that Mr. Carraway had sold the old girl some bad fish.

Anything in it?

Well, I wouldn't have said.

I would have thought it was just some troublemaker.

But since then we've had all sorts.

Different envelopes, but always typed.

And always with an Oxford postmark?

Yeah, which doesn't make any sense.

Because whoever sent them knows the village.

SHEPHERD: Um, Isla, do you have Mr. Cobb the Baker?

Henry, do you have Master Cobb the baker's son?

Oh, no!

(laughing) ("Nocturne in E Flat Major" by Chopin playing on speakers) You are good to me, Puli.

Nonsense.

But you are.

If you say so.

How was London?

I looked in at the R.A. French paintings since 1900.

(pouring wine) And was it lovely?

It was, rather.

(utensils scraping) You know, I was thinking I might get someone in.

Were you?

For the garden.

I thought perhaps I might put in some jasmine.

What do you think?

We used to have a whole lump of the stuff at the Hill Station.

Do you remember?

You always said you... you liked the smell.

(utensil clatters) My dear, was it something I said?

(utensil clatters) What is it, then, my dear?

Hmm?

What's upset you?

I don't think...

...I've been a very good wife.

No man ever had a better.

♪ ♪ Looks a bit like Greville Creswell, don't you think?

JAGO: What's this?

Something Morse found at Bell's farm.

We're done with Chigton Green, aren't we?

Two victims, one killer.

Bob's your mother's fancy man.

Somebody wrote Bell a poison-pen letter claiming that his wife was sleeping with Creswell.

So?

So, well, what if she wasn't?

Well, you've only got her brother's word for that.

It's what Bell thought that matters.

We'll take a run out to the factory, talk to the Creswells.

BOX: If it makes you feel better, but I don't want anymore time spending on this than we have to.

This is about as open and shut as it gets.

And what if the next person to get one of these poison-pen letters reacts in the same way as Rennett Bell?

What then?

♪ ♪ (door opens) RUPERT: Good morning.

Sorry to have kept you waiting.

If you'd like to follow me, Murray's waiting in the boardroom.

THURSDAY (voiceover): Had your father been in receipt of any of these anonymous letters doing the rounds?

If it were the case, he never mentioned it to either of us.

How about yourselves?

No, why?

Rennett Bell received one alleging an affair between your father and Mrs. Bell.

An affair?

You think that's why... That's preposterous.

Pa was old enough to be her father, I doubt he even knew her name.

I'd be very grateful if you'd keep all that to yourselves.

Pa's death has sent the share price tumbling.

Any lower, we'd be liable to a hostile takeover from Gidbury's.

How long had Mrs. Bell been working here?

A year or two.

You'd have to ask Miss Neal in Personnel for details.

Ru can take you down there.

THURSDAY: Sergeant Morse was tells me you've been here over a hundred years.

Yes, yes, indeed-- 1832.

I suppose things really got going in the Great Exhibition with the launch of the Happy Family Assortment Box.

Became a bit of a craze-- collect them all.

And Mr. Chou the confectioner is a caricature of your father, I believe?

That's right.

Traditionally, they've been based on the workers and the villagers hereabouts.

All in good fun, of course.

And we do ask permission.

We get the odd grump, but most people take it as a bit of an honor.

(alarm sounding, mechanical clanking) This way, please.

MISS NEAL: Mrs. Bell had been with us 18 months.

Only part time.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Reliable?

Well, I see from her records that she had to be reprimanded earlier after the Christmas party.

For what?

She'd drunk rather too much and was indiscreet about Mr. Rupert's fiancée.

Miss Clamp?

In what way?

Miss Clamp used to work at the factory.

So what happened?

I don't know exactly what went on, but it ended up with Sarah throwing a drink over her.

And would Mrs. Bell have anything to do with Mr. Creswell Senior?

No.

She worked in the jelly room.

Has the company received any of these poison-pen letters that have been doing the rounds?

The company hasn't, but there's many of the staff have.

I've had a few letters myself.

Did you show them to Constable Potter?

I couldn't very well, seeing as he's the subject of one of them.

It came with a Mr. Truncheon the Policeman card and intimated Mandy-Jane and he were... Is there anything in that?

They were an item once... but I think she disappointed him.

♪ ♪ If Mandy-Jane Bell was carrying on with Greville Creswell, the family certainly didn't know about it.

What about her workmates?

None that we spoke to.

They said she was high-spirited, a bit of a handful.

But that she was devoted to him, even though he was a difficult type.

You'd think if she was knocking off the boss, she might've let slip to her colleagues.

Can't see her keeping quiet.

Not in a place like that, where everyone knows each other's business.

It was a lie, then, whoever sent the letter.

No way to know that Bell would react the way he did.

But what if they did know?

Potter said Bell could be violent, unpredictable.

What if that's what they gambled on?

That he'd go mad and kill his wife and Creswell into the bargain?

Well, it's a possibility, isn't it?

What if whoever wrote the letter was pointing him at Creswell, hoping he'd react the way he did?

Why would they?

Well, there's a lot of worry in the area about the potential of the company moving away.

I don't know.

Feels off to me.

Me too.

The long and the short is Rennett Bell did for them both.

Anything else is just speculation.

Put it to bed.

Well, I don't think that we've heard the last of it.

Noted.

Meantime, there's a sudden with your name on it come in over Hescott College.

Jago's got the gen. Livener, Fred?

Yeah.

Yeah, why not?

(bell tolling) I'm sorry.

It's all a bit coppery, I'm afraid.

Appropriately enough.

Just a hint of sucrose.

Oh, must you?

It's a bloodbath, not a Côtes du Rhône.

What's the, uh... Chap called Bura.

Rufus Bura.

Research fellow, apparently.

Anything suspicious?

Medically, I can't really comment until after the PM, but it all looks pretty textbook.

A couple of tentative slashes on the left wrist before screwing his courage to the sticking place.

Aspirin and brandy for literal good measure.

Otherwise, "Alles in Ordnung."

Mahler.

No solipsistic impulse knowingly overlooked.

People do despair, Morse.

Hmm.

You don't say.

It'd gone, the flat.

The 1:00 viewing took it.

Oh, bad luck.

I'm thinking of looking a little further out.

How far's further?

There's a place in Chigton Green to let.

Looks quite nice.

Well, all the best with it.

How did you get on with the derelict the other morning?

Oh, no surprises there.

Asphyxia-- inhaled his own vomitus.

Doesn't sound any better in Latin.

Blood results came in this morning.

Heroin cut with quinine to about the same ratio as the other overdoses.

Same supplier, then.

Or dealer, at least.

I've copied in James Strange.

He asked-- I trust that was all right.

Mm-hmm.

Dental and fingerprints attached.

Still unidentified, I presume?

Mmm.

Soldier, possibly.

Known unto God.

(bells tolling) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (door opening) THURSDAY: Home.

(door closes) Oh, off out, are you?

You know I am.

I was thinking, maybe we could go away somewhere for a week or two.

I've got some leave due.

What with?

Washers?

What's this?

Oh, just some chocolates.

You used to like Happy Family.

Creswell's.

That's right.

Didn't one of them get killed?

I read about it in the papers this morning.

We were up the factory earlier, me and Morse.

They've got a little kiosk there.

I just saw them and thought of you.

You needn't have.

I wanted to.

Put me in mind of when we'd settle down in here with the kids of a Saturday to watch the big film.

You remember?

Joanie and Sam were always after you for the card.

You'd give one one week and the other the next.

Remember?

Still got them somewhere, I expect.

Well, they'd be worth something now.

To who?

Somebody.

Tat.

I should throw them all away, really.

Win...

I won't be late.

No.

(door opens) All right.

(door shuts) MORSE: And I found this in the grate.

I mean, there's not much of it left.

Looks like it's been burned.

But to me it looks like a Happy Families card.

Not that again.

The letter sent to Farmer Bell did have an Oxford postmark.

You know how many Happy Family cards are out there?

Tens of thousands.

Hundreds of thousands.

THURSDAY: What's this?

BOX: That sudden I sent him on at Hescott.

Suicide, fellow called Bura.

Morse has got it into his head he's something to do with what happened to Creswell.

MORSE: The vet, Shepherd, said he knew Sarah Clamp through a cousin of hers at Upper Pembury who's now at Oxford.

The family had a Pekingese he used to treat.

There's a photograph on Bura's desk of him with a woman and a Pekingese.

So who's this Sarah Clamp?

Daughter of the village greengrocer.

She's set to marry Rupert Creswell.

Anything untoward about the Bura suicide?

Not according to Dr. DeBryn.

I spoke to a Rhodes scholar that Bura played rugby with, name of Clinton.

He said Rufus kept himself to himself.

No girlfriend that we know off.

You've got a call from that local yokel, Potter.

Excuse me.

♪ ♪ All typed, standard paper, Oxford postmark.

Always a second-class stamp.

And all from "A.

Wellwisher."

As I said, I sent them off for fingerprinting after the first few come through.

And?

Anything?

Nothing on them, bar those they were sent to and anyone they'd shown them to.

Oh, and John, of course.

HAZEL: Rich asked my advice, like.

Trying to nail down where they went into the postal system.

Any luck?

HAZEL: Well, we narrowed it down to a few boxes in Oxford, but never the same box twice and never the same day two weeks running.

And we even kept a watch on one or two of the post boxes for a bit, on our own time, but we never saw who posted them.

POTTER: Poor old Rufus.

MORSE: Mmm.

Did he come to the village much?

Yeah, before he went to Oxford.

Not that he was too well liked.

Little Lord Fauntleroy, the lads used to call him.

Seems a bit cruel.

Well, people are.

He'd been a bit of a crybaby at school.

Telltale (no audio).

Always had his nose stuck in some book or another.

But he'd drop by and see Sarah regular.

Was a bit lonely, I expect.

Now, you and Mandy-Jane Bell.

I believe you were... something?

Well, where'd you hear that?

Yeah, for a bit.

Right.

And did Bell know?

Well, not unless she told him.

Look, it was years ago when we were kids.

That's why I didn't mention it.

Far as I was concerned, it was all water under the bridge.

No hard feelings?

I knew I was just a distraction for her.

Easy come, easy go.

All right.

(sighs) ♪ ♪ MORSE: Mrs. Clamp?

Hello, I'm Detective Sergeant Morse.

Thames Valley.

It's all right, Cec, police.

It's about your nephew, Rufus Bura.

Rufus?

What about him?

Rufus was found dead this morning at Hescott College.

Dead?

Well, it would appear that he has taken his own life.

Now, of course we'll notify our colleagues in Australia, but I thought your sister might prefer to hear it from you.

Oh, poor Brenda.

This will break her heart.

When did you see him last?

Easter.

He come by for Easter.

But I, I spoke to him every week, more or less.

Sunday he calls.

Him and Sarah have always been very close, you see.

And since Brenda went abroad, well, we're his only family near.

And the last time you spoke to him, how did he seem?

Was anything troubling him?

Nothing on his mind?

Normal, same as ever.

Right.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry.

Oh, of course.

Will you excuse me?

I'd better call Brenda.

Of course.

My condolences.

♪ ♪ (chattering) Hello.

Oh, hello.

I didn't think I'd see you again after Bell's farm.

I've just been over to see Mrs. Clamp, the greengrocer.

It's about her nephew.

Rufus?

Do you know him?

Hello.

He came into the surgery once in a while with his dog.

Why?

It's about the poison-pen letters.

Henry, go and sit on the blanket.

I don't suppose you or your father have received any?

Someone sent one to my neighbor, Miss Neal.

Miss Neal.

Miss Neal who works at Creswell's?

In the personnel department, that's right.

So it wasn't to me, as such, but, um...

But it was about you.

(exhales) "Miss Pett, the Vet's daughter."

If you were to ask my father about Henry and me, he'd tell you that I was widowed.

Death, that's respectable, you see.

No awkward questions.

No shame.

But the truth is my husband left me when Henry was quite small.

For another woman.

And that's what it said in the letter?

I can give it to you in verbatim if you like.

"Mrs. Fairford's husband is alive and well and driving a taxi in Upper Pembury."

Miss Neal thought I should know.

Wasn't that kind of her?

So there-- another woman.

How awful must I be?

I don't think you're awful at all.

Look, I'm not in the habit of doing this, but, um... Would you like to go for a drink this evening?

With me?

Uh, yes.

(car brakes squealing) ♪ ♪ (gunshot) (sobbing) There.

Bucephalus.

Greville's horse that went lame.

Nothing to be done, I'm afraid.

You'd better take her back to the house.

Give her a drink or something.

Of course.

Mum telephoned.

Suicide, she said.

Yes.

Yes, I'm sorry.

Can you think of anything that would have prompted Rufus to kill himself?

Nothing.

He was a lovely boy.

I was enormously fond of him.

We were more like brother and sister than cousins, I suppose.

And he knew the village well?

He was here at least as much as he was in Upper Pembury.

Why?

Oh, just... something I'm looking at.

I believe your mother was the first to receive one of these letters that have been doing the rounds.

The hate mail?

Mm-hmm.

Yes, about Mr. Carraway, the fishmonger.

Absolute nonsense, of course.

And you worked at Creswell's.

In their personnel department?

Yes.

Mm-hmm.

That's how I met Rupert.

Right.

And what can you tell me about Mandy-Jane Bell?

You had a bit of a disagreement, I understand, at the work's Christmas party.

Oh, that.

That was nothing.

She'd just had too much to drink.

I'm not, if you're wondering, a gold digger.

If you'll excuse me, I told Mum I'd be round.

♪ ♪ (birds chirping) SHEPHERD: Isla won't be a moment.

Can I offer you a drink?

I won't, but thank you.

I'm just taking five minutes with the crossword before we settle down to an evening of snap.

Happy Families?

He collects them.

All the kids do.

"Slaughter horse and worry about it."

Crossword clue.

I don't suppose... Carnage.

Is it seven letters?

Of course!

It is.

Carnage.

Sorry to have kept you.

Not at all.

He's been helping me with the crossword.

Has he?

Well, now I'm going to save him.

Shall we?

Well, good night.

Night, Henry (door unlocking) ♪ ♪ Home.

♪ ♪ Chief Superintendent.

Doctor, very good of you to meet me.

Not at all.

Please.

Thank you.

What may I get for you?

Oh, a, a brandy, I think.

Albert, a brandy, if you would.

Hmm.

Now, how may I be of service?

I may rely on your discretion as a medical man?

Oh, always.

Please, speak freely.

My wife has been diagnosed with cancer of the lungs.

Inoperable, according to the specialist.

She's scolded me for an optimistic fool, but I...

I wonder if you can recommend anyone from whom one might seek a second opinion.

Well, there's no better man in England than Sir Julian Fitzalan.

I know him slightly.

I would be happy to... Chief Superintendent?

(brandy class setting on table) Julian is my wife's specialist.

He's not infallible, of course.

("Vienna Waltz" by Strauss II playing) ("Vienna Waltz" continues) ISLA: I'm sorry if I seem nervous.

I'm out of practice.

You must think me very parochial.

No, not at all.

In fact, I grew up somewhere just like this.

Really?

Mmm.

Look, um, about earlier, I made a bit of a fool of myself.

Oh?

Someone was bound to tell you.

(breathing deeply): It's just...

I wouldn't want you to...

It's important to tell the truth.

Be honest.

I'm through with the lies.

You're... you don't have someone in town or... Oh, no, no.

No.

It's been a year, almost.

What happened?

Sorry, I shouldn't ask.

No, no, um... What happened?

She decided that a war was preferable to my company.

Which probably tells you all you need to know about me.

(both laughing) She was a photojournalist.

Vietnam.

Afraid I can't compete with that.

Well, it's not a competition.

Really, I'm very dull.

No, you're not.

I think Henry's a very lucky little boy.

He's my world.

Yeah, that's obvious to anyone who sees you both together.

It doesn't put you off?

Most men would run a million miles from a single woman with a kiddie in tow.

More fool them.

MURRAY: Look, I've kept quiet, Ru.

But Pa was right.

You don't really know this girl from Adam.

RUPERT: What the hell does that mean?

MURRAY: You think I'm going to have some village girl sitting on the Board?

She worked in the factory for God's sake.

She might have been raised in the village, but at least she's the manners to know one doesn't listen at keyholes, unlike your brood mare!

Excuse me, Clemmie, won't you?

ISLA: Here we are.

I...

I would ask you in.

I'd like to.

Really, I want to.

It's... it's just with Henry... That's all right.

I wasn't expecting you to.

You hardly know me.

It doesn't feel like that.

(sighs) Is that mad?

Love should be brave, don't you think?

Even if it doesn't last.

♪ ♪ (sighs) You should go inside.

I'll telephone.

(key jingling, lock turning) (leaves rustling in wind) ♪ ♪ (door opening) MURRAY: I'll be back later, Clemmie.

(door closing) (knocking on door) Stone me, matey.

This what it's come to, has it?

(groaning): I was just getting 40 winks.

Called in at the Section House.

DeBryn said you went to the postmortem.

Thank you.

Any progress on the overdoses?

No.

You wonder why that is?

It's not my case.

Same question.

You wonder why that is?

What are you saying?

I'm saying if Box's investigation into who's keeping Oxford supplied with heroin cut with quinine has stalled, maybe there's a reason for it.

You want to crack this thing, it's down to us.

Just watch your back here.

I mean it.

Trust no bugger.

Even your closest.

Be seeing you.

There you go.

What's this?

I told you, I look after my firm.

And what have I done to warrant looking after?

Don't take it that way.

You'd've been taken care of before now, I'd had my way.

Just needed to be sure of you.

And now you are?

I think so.

I'd hate to be wrong.

Listen, it's all above board.

It's just a bit of bunce.

This more of what Jago was picking up last week?

For what?

What a man don't know can't hurt him.

If we're square, there's more where that came from.

I'll fill you in as to the rest of it as time goes by.

You're a good man, Fred.

Same as my old man.

He did nearly 30 years in a blue uniform.

Two months shy of his pension, going after a couple of safe-crackers, he fell through a skylight.

Fell 35 feet on the concrete and broke his back.

Know what he got for his trouble?

(putting out cigarette) A watch and a chain.

The watch stopped working after a fortnight.

And six months later, so did he.

I swore on his grave that if I was going to risk my life for this job, I was going to get more out of it than just a poxy watch and chain.

And you deserve no different.

Deserve?

After the way they've treated you?

I wouldn't treat a dog like that.

I mean, Christ, you must've noticed a change in your pay packet.

What next?

They put you out to grass on some nothing job like old Reg?

A man's got his dignity, Fred, or he's got nothing.

Doesn't make you a bad copper.

Just makes you a smart one.

Go on.

Take the missus out this weekend.

Treat her.

Blimey.

For minute there, you had me giving you two-bob thruppenny bit.

You and me both.

To be fair, I was no different the first time.

Second time, you barely feel it.

After that, it's all gravy.

(placing glass down) Go on, then.

Get 'em in.

♪ ♪ (birds chirping) (dish, utensils clatter) Morning, darling.

Clemmie.

Murray not down yet?

I thought he must be with you.

No.

What time did he get back last night?

I don't know.

He didn't come in to me.

I'll, uh, go and knock.

♪ ♪ (dialing phone) I don't think he's been home.

What?

No, that can't be right.

I'm pretty sure his bed hasn't been slept in.

Oh, my God.

It doesn't mean anything.

Maybe his car wouldn't start.

(phone ringing out) No reply.

I'll drive over there.

I'll come with you.

It's probably best you wait here, just in case I miss him.

Sarah?

Yes, of course.

Try not to worry, Clemmie.

(door opens, closes) (car engine revving) (engine stops) (car doors shutting) Murray?

Not in the office?

No.

There's not a sign of...

Call the police.

Call the police!

♪ ♪ What've we got, Doctor?

He died sometime between 9:00 and midnight.

Won't be able to confirm cause until I've got his lid off.

But as far as injuries are concerned, a single circular wound about half-an-inch diameter to the base of the skull.

Shot, then, surely?

MORSE: No.

There's no starburst pattern which one would expect to find from a discharge at point-blank range.

Yes, quite.

Could have been done with any number of pointed instruments.

Such as?

Oh, a spiked bayonet.

Medieval misericorde.

Rondel-dagger.

The Japanese sai.

The only thing one can pronounce with any certainty at this juncture is that he came to a sticky end.

Shall we say 2:00?

(clears throat) ♪ ♪ What?

That's not a bullet wound.

♪ ♪ (footsteps approaching) I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting.

What can I do for you?

Morse says you've got a horse gun.

I keep it locked in this box here.

(door hinge creaks) Oh, good heavens...

It's gone.

I could have sworn I put it back.

When did you see it last?

At Creswell Hall.

When I put down Bucephalus.

JAGO: And you've had no cause to use it since?

No.

And you locked it back away once you were done?

Well, yes, I...

I thought I had.

But... well, I, I suppose anyone could get into the car when I'm out on call.

I don't leave it locked.

Pa. Now Murray.

(sniffling) I feel like I'm going mad.

Can you think of anyone who wished your brother ill?

No.

Murray really was the best of fellows.

I know he was my big brother, and it's often the way, but I've looked up to him my whole life.

Sorry, Ru.

Are you sure he didn't receive any of those poison-pen letters?

Not as far as I'm aware.

You've guns up at the house, presumably.

Shotguns, certainly.

(door opens) You did this!

Mrs. Creswell... You killed him!

Clemmie!

You killed him!

Mrs. Creswell... Half the business wasn't enough for you!

You wanted it all, so you could sell it to Gidbury's!

Clemmie!

You're in on it too.

Don't think I don't know!

You're in on it together, both of you!

They're murderers, murderers!

Well, don't just stand there, arrest them!

Stop it!

Pull yourself together!

Look, Clemmie, you've had a shock.

We all have.

But it's not helping anybody to tear at one another like this.

Let's just go outside for a bit, Mrs. Creswell, get some air.

(sighing deeply) MORSE: And what about yesterday evening?

A call did come through last night about ten past 9:00, just after you brought Isla back from the pub.

ISLA: It was a bad line, but the caller said he had a cow in labor, and it looked to be a breech delivery.

JAGO: And where was that?

They said they were calling from Foxtail Grange, somewhere out towards King's Abbot.

It didn't ring a bell.

I drove out there anyway.

Couldn't find the place for love nor money.

I did try calling Isla, just in case she'd taken it down wrong.

I hadn't.

I don't make mistakes.

Not when it comes to practice business.

SHEPHERD: Anyway, I couldn't get through, so I ended up driving round and round until eventually I just gave it up as a bad job.

How was it you couldn't get through here?

My fault, I'm afraid.

I was talking to an old school friend.

And what time did you get back to the surgery?

11:00, 11:30, something like that.

ISLA: I can confirm that.

SHEPHERD: Yes, she was still yakking away on the telephone.

And the farmer didn't leave a telephone number when he first rang?

No.

No, he said he was calling from a phone box.

I did offer to take his number and call him back, but he hung up.

When did you last see your husband?

Yesterday evening.

Around 10:00.

He said he had business to attend to at the factory.

Did he give you any indication as to what the business might be?

We were having supper.

Me, Murray, and Rupert.

Just after 9:00, the telephone rang.

Murray went to answer it.

Did he say who it was?

No.

But when we were alone in the drawing room later, he said he had to go out for a while.

I assumed it was something to do with work.

So...

He left at around 10:00-ish.

Then what?

Sarah turned up at about 11:00 to see Rupert.

I left them to it and went to bed.

You didn't miss your husband?

Not until this morning.

We have separate rooms.

You think someone called Shepherd out on a fool's errand?

Or he arranged it himself, perhaps.

Keeps him in play for Murray.

Unless someone's trying to put him in the frame for it.

JAGO: So where's his horse gun?

Oh, I don't know.

Maybe he did leave it at Creswell Hall.

But he's got no motive to go after Murray.

BOX: That we know about.

The exchange should be able to tell you what callbox this farmer rang in on.

I wonder if Murray's received any of these poison-pen letters since last we've asked.

Murray Creswell was lured to the factory last night by a telephone call, not any letter.

Yes, but whoever lured him there could have received one.

Like Farmer Bell, you mean?

MORSE: Mmm.

JAGO: Someone primed to go off.

You think whoever sent these letters may have made similar allegations about Murray Creswell?

He'd led a pretty blameless life, according to his brother.

Hard to see what he can have done to make someone kill him.

True.

But the village is already half mad with suspicion and mistrust.

The right word in the wrong ear... wouldn't take much to push someone over the edge.

♪ ♪ (people chattering) ♪ ♪ THURSDAY: What's this?

Jago said you were with Shepherd's daughter in the pub.

It was just a drink.

She's a suspect.

Christ, what's the matter with you?

They bat their lashes...

I've got a life.

Not on duty, you haven't.

I wasn't on duty.

It shouldn't matter.

A copper's a copper, first, last, and always.

Where's that got you?

Sir, I... Just find the gun.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (paper rustling) ♪ ♪ (footsteps approaching, door opens) "Dear Anxious of Jericho, "If your friend suffers from B.O., "try to introduce regular bathing "as a topic into a more general conversation about health.

And, no, you cannot get pregnant through any form of kissing."

So!

You're Miss Ling, Agony Aunt in the "Oxford Mail."

I trust I may rely on your discretion.

You must be privy to a lot of people's secrets.

Are these the only anonymous letters that you write?

Am I author of these poison-pen letters?

I am not.

Though I believe they were also written on an Adler Favorit 2.

I recognize the typeface.

Does anybody else know that you're Miss Ling?

Only one other has ever guessed my identity, and she's dead now.

Mandy-Jane Bell.

She used to read my column as a teenager and was always trying to guess who might have written to me.

But my correspondents always used an alias, so I couldn't have told her, even if I'd wanted to.

(chickens clucking, dog barking) (door creaking) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (birds chirping) ♪ ♪ Back, are you?

The phone records have come through.

We know who called Shepherd.

Yes, I think I know too.

♪ ♪ (work whistle blowing in distance) THURSDAY: Mr. Shepherd.

Detective Inspector Thursday, Thames Valley.

I believe you know Sergeant Morse.

SHEPHERD: Yes, of course.

Any luck with the humane killer?

Not yet, Mr. Shepherd.

We're hoping your daughter might be able to help us with that.

Isla?

Well, actually, I believe she's something to show you.

Darling?

ISLA: Yes.

I received a letter this morning.

One of those letters.

I was going to bring it in.

"The grocer's daughter is sleeping with men from half the houses in the village."

I'm sure she's isn't.

MORSE: I'm sure she isn't too.

The typeface is the same, but that's not an Oxford postmark.

THURSDAY: Just as a matter of interest, Mr. Shepherd, where did get your typewriter?

It was a present for Isla from Murray Creswell.

Our old machine was giving up the ghost, so he let us have a spare from the factory.

MORSE: When was this?

Last summer, why?

Because for the past nine months, your daughter has been using it to type poison-pen letters.

I don't believe you.

No, that's insane.

Why would she do such a thing?

That scene at the works Christmas party with Mandy-Jane Bell calling Sarah Clamp a gold digger, that was only half the story, wasn't it?

She also told Murray Creswell she suspected he was your son's father.

Where would she get that idea?

MORSE: The "Oxford Mail."

Miss Ling's Problem Page, to be precise.

Mandy-Jane Bell had an appetite for other people's misery.

In fact, one letter so took her fancy that she pinned it to her noticeboard until she could work out just who "Worried of Upper Pembury" could be.

The clues were all there-- adulterous wife, rich, married lover.

THURSDAY: But the most telling was Miss Ling's reply.

She told the wife she should pass herself off as a widow.

Because... how did it go, Sergeant?

"Because death is infinitely more respectable than adultery and comes with fewer awkward questions."

Who told you your secret was out, Mrs. Fairford?

Murray Creswell or Mandy-Jane Bell?

Murray.

That's why the little bitch approached him at the Christmas do.

Money, that what she was after?

He gave her a few bob.

But I knew that wouldn't be enough for a girl like Mandy-Jane.

So you started your little hate-mail campaign, knowing that sooner or later you could slip in a letter to Rennett Bell amidst all the other misery that you'd stirred up.

THURSDAY: What where you hoping for?

That Bell would just give her a good hiding?

Chuck her out maybe, same as happened to you?

ISLA: Maybe... And none of them are any better.

They have all got something to hide.

Gossip.

I have had to live with it.

The looks.

The sly stares.

People looking down their noses.

And I had Henry to protect.

Why should he pay for my mistakes, grow up with that stigma?

Right, but you needed an accomplice.

Someone outside the village.

You typed the letters.

But to avoid suspicion, posted them to Rufus Bura, who sent them back to Chigton Green with an Oxford postmark.

Why would Rufus do such a thing?

THURSDAY: Because like your daughter, he despised the village and everyone in it.

MORSE: But when your malicious prank ended in somebody being murdered, he couldn't face the consequences of his actions.

So Rufus killed himself.

And Rennett Bell shot Mandy-Jane and Grev Creswell.

I didn't kill them.

THURSDAY: No, not directly.

But the night of Murray Creswell's murder, telephone records show a request from this number for a check on the line.

A woman's voice, according to the operator.

Just after 9:00.

That be right?

MORSE: You told your father it was a farmer calling from, where was it, Foxtail Grange?

But, in fact, having sent him out on a wild-goose chase, (phone ringing) you telephoned Creswell Hall, told Murray to come and meet you at the factory, then gave yourself an alibi by leaving your phone off the hook, so that if anyone called, they'd get an engaged signal.

(busy signal beeping) ♪ ♪ (gunshot) He wanted me to come clean.

"For the best," he said.

He'd see that his child was looked after.

His child!

When I fell pregnant, he didn't want to know.

And now he was saying I wasn't a fit mother to raise his child, threatening to take Henry away from me.

And all so you could pay Mandy-Jane back.

It was wicked, what she did.

Poking her nose into other people's affairs.

And you're no different.

My boy!

Henry!

Let me say goodbye to Henry!

Come on, let's go.

Henry!

Get... get off me!

In the car.

Henry!

Henry!

Stop, please!

Henry!

All right?

What a place.

Mmm.

Look... What?

Plenty more fish?

(sighs) You can clear up here, can you?

Yeah.

♪ ♪ (phone ringing) Morse.

OPERATOR: Urgent request to attend an RTA on Wells Street.

Oh, no, you want Traffic.

OPERATOR: This is DS Morse?

That's right.

OPERATOR: Then it's you he wants.

Who wants?

OPERATOR: Chief Superintendent Bright.

Nobody else, he said, just Morse.

Right.

Sir?

Thank you for coming so quickly.

There's something you need to see.

The hold-all there.

Well, who's the driver?

No identification.

Car hired in London.

So why me?

Doctor?

There's an old spent round under the driver's seat.

I can't swear to anything more until I've had it under the comparison microscope, but it's the same caliber as killed George Fancy.

♪ ♪ (thunder rumbling distantly) Where's Inspector Thursday?

(thunder rumbling, rain pouring) (muffled conversation, laughter) (rain pouring, thunder rumbling) ♪ ♪ (click) CUMMING: Next time, on "Masterpiece Mystery!"

Accidents happen.

That sounds like a threat.

"Homes fit for habitation."

That was your election promise.

BOTTOMS: There are things here that go far beyond Oxford.

WIN: I don't want the money.

God knows what you had to do to get it.

MORSE: There is a line.

I just hope that you're on the right side of it.

CUMMING: "Endeavour," the season finale.

Next time, on "Masterpiece Mystery!"

♪ ♪ Go to the "Masterpiece" website, watch full episodes, listen to our podcast, and more.

To order this program on Blu-Ray or DVD, visit ShopPBS.org.

Also available on Amazon Prime Video.

♪ ♪