ALAN CUMMING: This is "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 and Thames Valley.

JAGO: Just saying, he's not one of us.

I'm at a loss to see the connection between these things and a stabbing.

MORSE: He's lying.

Of course he is, but why?

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.

STRANGE: Depending how far this goes, we get one shot and it's gotta stick.

CUMMING: "Endeavour," the season finale, tonight, on "Masterpiece Mystery!"

CUMMING: "Endeavour," the season finale, (thunder claps) (whimpers) (click) ♪ ♪ FILM NARRATOR: It's the start of a new era.

In Oxford, it's out with the old and in with the new... ♪ ♪ ...as Councillor Clive Burkitt, in charge of the Planning and Housing Department, welcomes the first tenant to Cranmer House, one of three tower blocks at Oxford's new Martyrs' Field development-- a stunning feat of modern engineering, changing the Oxford skyline forever.

♪ ♪ Councillor Burkitt is keen to hand over the first set of keys.

♪ ♪ For Mrs. Olive Reynolds and daughter Sandra, this is a dream come true.

A top-floor flat, and just look at the view!

What a brave new world.

♪ ♪ (exhales) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Ten minutes, Miss Paroo.

(ringing) ♪ ♪ (bell continues) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (paper crumples) (door opens) I'll chase up any stragglers.

♪ ♪ (thud sounds in distance) Hello?

The library is closed.

♪ ♪ Hello.

♪ ♪ (Osbert cries out, grunts, shuffling) (struggling to breathe) (breathing stops) ♪ ♪ (glass crunches) (door closes) (glass rustling) The bed?

I was in early.

Well, DeBryn's been and gone.

Any idea who they were?

Junkies, pair of 'em.

I meant a name.

Done the owner a favor in any case.

(lighter flicks) How's that?

JAGO: Well, the rest of the place has cleared out.

He can finally sell it.

(lighter flicks closed) Morning.

BOX: Christ-- what's this?

You pair should get on "Opportunity Knocks."

"Me and My Bloody Shadow."

I didn't think I had you down till 10:00.

Heard it come over the R/T.

Just wondered if there were any similarities with that tramp from the alley the other month.

Well, they're dead.

So there's that.

BOX: Well...

I'll leave you ladies to it.

Al?

JAGO: Mm-hmm.

Win?

I said I'd get it back.

It's not all of it.

Not yet, but it will be.

There's enough there for that new oven you've been wanting.

And something for yourself, obviously.

A new frock or two.

I thought a holiday, maybe.

Where did it come from?

Where?

I got it back, that's where.

From where it went, I got it back.

Charlie?

I don't believe you.

Winnie!

(exhales) A bit of overtime here and there, it soon adds up.

Overtime?

What, the sort of overtime that leaves your knuckles raw and blood on your cuffs?

That sort of overtime?

You can keep it.

I don't want any part of it.

(door opens) ♪ ♪ Doctor.

Inspector.

Osbert Page, chief librarian.

Found by Lucy Paroo, one of the juniors.

Single stab wound to the back, defensive injuries-- a pretty vicious attack.

Cause of death most likely to be massive hemorrhage.

Time?

MAX: 12 to 18 hours.

The library would have closed about 7:00 last night, so... Wood chisel.

Unusual choice of weapon.

Now, as far as I can see from the distribution of blood spatter, the attack took place in this aisle.

He made half a dozen paces before being overcome by his injuries.

Be able to give you chapter and verse after the post-mortem.

Shall we say 2:00?

Sir!

Muddy boot prints.

MAX: Oh, yes.

Evidence of mud and dirt was found amongst the blood.

Sample's been taken by forensics.

I'll give you the full gen once it's in.

Family?

Not that I know of.

He lived alone.

In Jericho.

MORSE: What was he like?

Set in his ways.

Quite disagreeable when the mood was on him.

Which was most of the time.

He lived for the library-- and his walking, of course.

He was a keen rambler.

Did he get on well with the rest of his colleagues?

I suppose.

I've not been here very long, so... Who else was in here?

Well, there were only a couple of regulars.

Where were they sitting?

Uh...

Professor Burrowes was sitting there.

And Dr. Nicholson was sitting just here.

THURSDAY: What are they, dons?

PAROO: Yes, that's right.

♪ ♪ "Memoirs of a Voluptuary."

Isn't that part of the Phi Collection?

Yes, I believe so.

Huh.

Well, I'd be interested to know who asked for it to be brought up.

Of course.

If you'll just give me a moment.

The Phi Collection?

Yeah, obscene or libelous works that aren't available to all readers.

A special request has to be made to the librarian for access.

Whoever did for Page would have hidden in the library, after closing, would you think?

Mm.

Plenty of places for a man to hide in here.

PAROO: It was Dr. Nicholson who put in the request for the book.

I should have remembered, because Mr.

Page got a bit batey about it.

Why is that?

Dr. Nicholson was always after one book or another from the collection.

Well, I'd be grateful for a list of all of the other books he asked for.

Oh, I don't suppose you remember anyone wearing a pair of muddy boots, do you?

Muddy boots?

Mm.

No.

Mr.

Page would not have stood for that.

Well, thank you, Miss Paroo.

(birds chirping) (door opens) Good morning.

I intend today to deal with Gödel's Completeness Theorem, which states that if a formula is logically valid, then there is a finite deduction-- a formal proof-- of the formula.

♪ ♪ Is this a joke?

Who did this?

Who did this?!

(door opens) Well...

Either Osbert Page was the untidiest librarian to ever draw breath... Or somebody's beaten us to it.

Muddy boot prints.

♪ ♪ (footsteps echoing) She's not been well.

It's the damp.

It's got on to her chest.

Damp?

Yeah.

Come and have a look for yourself.

♪ ♪ That's not damp, Mrs. Reynolds.

How long's it been like this?

Since we moved in.

I've tried painting over it, but it just comes back through again.

It's not just me, it's happening in loads of other flats.

♪ ♪ (exhales) Anything?

Well, not unless this map of the Gower has any bearing.

What's that-- Greek, is it?

Mm, "anemoi"-- wind gods.

What about that?

"H.B."?

"H.B."

No.

Your guess is as good as mine.

Hope whoever turned this place over found what they were looking for.

(places map down) I'll get forensics over.

Meantime, we can give those readers at the library a spin.

♪ ♪ (speaking inaudibly) Dr. Nicholson?

About the fun and games, is it?

What fun and games?

The stuff left in his cubby, sir.

Bits of metal.

An amulet, I suppose you'd call it-- with Greek writing or something on it.

One of the undergrads said that someone's been writing the word "Dora" up on his blackboard.

Dora?

That's right, sir.

In the lecture theater, and in his tutorial.

How long's this been going on?

About a month or so, I suppose.

I've offered to call the police before now, but he didn't seem too keen.

You were at the Bodleian yesterday evening, Dr. Nicholson.

Yes.

We'd like to know what time you arrived, what time you left, where you went from the library, and if anyone can vouch for you.

Uh...

I was, um... arrived about 5:00.

Left just before 7:00.

And, uh, went home.

Can anyone confirm that?

My wife was out for the evening.

She returned about 11:00.

Did you happen to notice anyone unusual or out of place hanging around the library about the time you left?

Someone wearing muddy boots, perhaps?

Muddy boots?

There were muddy boot prints on the floor of the library.

Indeed?

No.

No, uh... No, I...

Think I would have remembered that.

Did you know Mr.

Page personally?

As a librarian, yes, but... No, not personally.

I'm sorry I, I can't be of greater assistance.

Unless there was anything else I can help you with...

Uh, there was just one thing.

This book you had out of the Phi Collection.

"Memoirs of a..." What was it, Morse?

"Voluptuary."

"Voluptuary."

Racy go for a numbers man, I'd've thought.

I'm writing a paper on Edwardian erotica.

It's very popular.

Well-thumbed, I'm sure.

I'm more of a Holly Martins man myself.

Each to their own.

MORSE: You've been in receipt of some curiosities, I believe.

In your pigeon hole.

Time was the discretion of a porter could be relied upon.

Not in my experience.

Rag Week high jinks.

Nothing more.

Really?

Seems a little late in the year for a Rag Week, I'd have thought.

Those who are responsible will be found and disciplined, I'm sure.

It's a college matter.

Nothing for the police to get involved in.

Well...

If you change your mind, you know where to reach us.

♪ ♪ BURROWES: That one's Aeger tipularius.

A species of prawn-- now extinct, of course.

I lifted him myself on a walking holiday in the long vac in '32.

In Germany.

Is that your field, Professor Burrowes?

Ah, would that it were, would that it were.

Alas, no.

Geology is my line.

The fossils are an adjunct, I suppose.

My particular delight is postage stamps.

Philately.

Uh, this is about poor Mr.

Page, is it?

You've heard.

I have, yes.

Terrible thing, absolutely, terrible.

What is it you were doing at the library?

Oh, I've been asked to evaluate a number of items, um, letters, historical documents, and a, a vast stamp collection left to the college by the late Mr. Teagarden.

And is it?

Valuable?

One or two of the stamps are of interest-- on the letters, oddly enough-- but nothing spectacular in the main collection.

And you left the library at what time?

Oh, about the ten-minute bell.

About ten to 7:00 or so.

Anybody see you leave?

The other readers, I suppose.

I stopped off at my rooms at the college, and then came home.

Anybody see you at college?

Mr. Jenkins, the porter, was on duty.

THURSDAY: And here?

Ah, well, I, I live alone.

I'm a confirmed bachelor.

(chuckles softly) Yet another old fossil.

You and me both, Professor.

JOAN: I've just had another three calls from residents.

VIV: This is getting ridiculous.

BURKITT: Off to save the world, Viv?

VIV: When are you going to do something about the complaints at Cranmer House?

It's in hand.

JOAN: With respect, Councillor Burkitt, that's what we were told last month.

Miss Thursday, my junior.

(chuckling): I see you're training her up well.

JOAN: It's not so funny if you actually live there.

"Homes fit for habitation," that was your election promise.

And I stand by it, every word.

I'll look into it.

Miss Lansbury, make a note.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm late for the chamber.

OLIVE (voiceover): Sandra?

Have you washed your hands?

How are you feeling?

A bit better.

Go on, then.

I've made you some soup.

(rumbling, objects rattling) Mum...

It's happening again.

Right-- come on.

♪ ♪ (rumbling continues) (cracking) Disturbance, Cranmer House.

What kind of disturbance?

I don't know.

There's been multiple calls from residents.

Look, you can be there and back in 40 minutes.

The guvnor asked.

(sighs): Right.

♪ ♪ (bang echoes) What was that?

Did you feel that?

I felt it.

SANDRA: What's happening?

Mum, what's going on?

Why are the lights doing that?

I don't know-- right, we need to go!

(rumbling, screaming) We need to go!

Come on-- let's run, okay?

Let's go, hold on to Mummy, that's right, let's go.

Come on, come on... Run, come on, it's okay, it's okay.

(tires screeching) (rumbling in distance, people screaming) Morse to information room.

All units to Cranmer House!

We're okay, let's go, let's go, let's go, let's go!

(rumbling, screaming in distance) This way, this way, this way!

It's okay, darling.

It's okay, everything's going to be okay, now.

I'm here, I'm here, darling.

Keep going, darling, keep going, keep going.

(Olive screams) Mum!

Sandra, run!

(screams) (booming, debris falling) (sirens blaring faintly in audio) ♪ ♪ (ears ringing) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (sirens approaching) What do we do?

Where do we start?

Fire and ambulance are coming from across the county.

ANC Reliefs are turning in.

What happened?

What happened is immaterial for the moment.

All that matters now is the preservation of life.

BOX: You think anyone could've survived that?

I don't know!

But if they did, it's up to us to get them out.

Castle Gate!

Where are my officers?

Very good-- Williams, Benson, Davis, let's get a human chain organized, yes?

Yes, sir!

Start clearing some of this rubble.

But mind how you go, I don't want any more casualties.

Yes, sir.

♪ ♪ (exhales) ♪ ♪ REPORTER (voiceover): The accident appears to have happened without warning.

One side of the building has sheared away from the rest.

The total number of casualties is not yet known.

Had the collapse happened during the hours of darkness, one can be certain that the death toll would have been very much higher.

Her Majesty the Queen has sent a message of sympathy to the bereaved.

♪ ♪ BOX: We should clear out.

Leave it to uniform, there's nothing we can do.

Well, we can be here.

I can be here.

One of us should.

To help with identification.

Whatever you think.

MAX: Put that bloody cigarette out!

(lighter snaps closed) ♪ ♪ (birds chirping) BOX (voiceover): Right, stand to.

Word from Bottoms is, life goes on.

Business as usual, everyone.

So, where are we on this Bodleian inquiry?

Morse?

Um... Deceased is an Osbert Page, senior librarian at the Bodleian.

Murder weapon was a wood chisel, found in situ, no fingerprints.

Oh, the interesting thing was muddy boot prints found at the locus and leading away from the body.

They're with forensics.

Anything in the way of motive?

Page's flat was turned over, sir, but as to what they were looking for...

There was a map of the Gower Peninsula with one or two things written on it.

Yeah, Page was a rambler.

BOX: What was on the map?

"H.B."

And something in Greek.

"Anemoi."

THURSDAY: The wind gods, apparently.

Well, I think we can probably leave them off the suspects' roster.

Speaking of which, couple of academics, wasn't it, you said?

That's right, Dr. Nicholson and Professor Burrowes, both at Garstang College.

Neither of whom have an alibi.

BOX: Well, keep at 'em.

Be nice to have a result to throw at Division for the quarterlies.

THURSDAY: That junior librarian, Miss Paroo, rang.

She's got that list of books you were after.

Right.

I've one or two errands to run.

Can you deal?

Yeah, of course.

Keep me posted.

Will do.

You all right?

Yes.

You had a bad go yesterday.

Well, there's many had it worse.

All the same.

Why don't you sign yourself off for a few days?

I can take up the slack with himself.

I think now is hardly the time.

Well, if you change your mind.

I'd sooner be busy, thank you.

(places teacup down) ♪ ♪ (exhales) Hello.

MORSE: Hi.

I believe you've that list of books that Dr. Nicholson requested from the Phi Collection for me.

Oh, yes.

Yes.

Thank you.

I'm afraid they're rather of a piece.

Antique smut.

Mr.

Page was not best pleased.

He often took the professor to task about it.

However, it was nothing beside his run-in with Professor Burrowes the other week.

What run-in?

Something to do with this donation, or whatever it is, with the Teagarden family, I believe.

The professor and Mr.

Page had a blazing row about it.

Well, if you do come across it, I'd be grateful to see it.

Of course.

MORSE: Oh, excuse me, sir.

Is Professor Burrowes in today?

Luncheoning out, I believe, sir.

Oh.

What about Dr. Nicholson, is he in?

Oh, just missed him, sir.

But I see the fun and games I told you about is still going on.

How's that?

Another message just delivered to his cubby, sir.

Delivered by whom?

Person or persons unknown, I believe that's the phrase, isn't it?

I didn't see.

Arrived when I was about my business.

Well, can I see it?

Yes, of course.

(paper rustles) There we are.

Thank you.

♪ ♪ Right, well, I'll keep hold of that, thank you.

Oh, very well, sir, if you say so.

I'll let Dr. Nicholson know.

I'll let him know myself when I see him.

Oh, very good.

Oh, um, you found Professor Burrowes at home all right yesterday, did you?

Oh, I did, yes, thank you.

Nice old man, isn't he?

He is, yes.

One of my favorites-- if a porter's allowed such a thing.

He's always been very respectful.

Not like some I could name.

You wouldn't think to look at him now, sir, but, um... (quietly): He was quite a card in his day.

Oh, but I suppose life takes it out of the best of us.

Dismay.

How's that?

Same as most men, I suppose, sir.

Some girl he had hopes of.

(tapping) Miss Teagarden?

Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

Of course-- come in.

My condolences.

Thank you for seeing me at such short notice.

Have you any idea what's in the bequest?

Oh, anything and everything.

Grandfather was something of a polymath.

His papers, stamp collections, letters.

But he didn't leave behind a list or anything.

Really?

Because there's been mention made of an inventory.

Not that I know of.

I can only assume it's been compiled by those examining the collection.

Teagarden.

Unusual name.

Should have been tree garden or orchard-- Baumgarten-- only the immigration official misheard.

So your family's German.

Originally.

My grandfather's side came to England in 1911.

Is this him?

No.

That's his brother, Emil.

He was a physicist before the war, in Berlin.

Another Einstein, my grandfather said.

A very great man.

Or would have been, had he lived.

A labor camp.

For the V2 factory in Mittelbau.

The whole family.

Emil, his wife, their daughter-- Deborah, for whom I'm named.

Do you read Hebrew?

A little.

Have you any idea what... this means?

"Emet," means truth-- why?

Well, it just may have some bearing on a case.

What about this?

"Mavet."

Death.

Reminds me of a story my grandfather used to tell me when I was small.

Do you know what a "shem" is?

I'm afraid I can't help you.

I've no idea what they mean.

THURSDAY: Are you sure about that?

We found one of them in a wastepaper basket near to where you were sitting in the Bodleian, and the other one in your cubby hole here.

I'm as much in the dark as you.

Whoever left them must believe they mean something to you.

(chuckles) Well, then, they're wildly mistaken.

I also believe there've been things written on your blackboard during lectures.

I don't recall.

Well, according to those present, it was the word "Dora."

Does that mean anything to you?

No.

Really?

Because the students seemed to think that you were rather distracted by the word.

Why should I be?

I've never met anyone with that name.

(scoffs): Really, I'm at a loss to see the connection between these things and a stabbing at the Bodleian.

MORSE (voiceover): He's lying.

Of course he is-- but why?

There's a connection between Nicholson and Osbert Page.

I'm just, I'm just not seeing it yet.

You will when you're thinking straight.

You need some kip.

I need a drink.

Do you fancy one?

Oh, I can't.

It's been a while.

I'm not much company these days.

Hm.

Pick up sticks in the morning.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ STRANGE: All right, matey.

Doctor.

Sir.

So what couldn't wait?

One of the bodies recovered from the rubble.

Male, 50s.

Nothing to identify him.

I have it from the fire brigade that his remains were found in what would have been the basement.

He did not die in the collapse of Cranmer House.

He was shot.

Twice in the back, hands bound.

STRANGE: Bullets came from the same gun that shot George Fancy.

Whoever this is has been dead for about a year.

Encased in the foundations of Cranmer House.

We need to put a name to him.

Have you anything to go on?

Just what's there.

Magdalen Cabs.

Eddie Nero's old firm.

MAX: The specs have come from Dinkley's, in the High, according to the name in the case.

"H.B."

Morse?

We're looking into the death of Osbert Page, chief librarian at the Bodleian.

He was stabbed to death there two nights ago.

In his flat, there's a map of the Gower with the initials H.B.

Yes, I've just had the results through from forensics.

The muddy boot prints at the flat are consistent with those found at the Bodleian.

Clay, limestone, and traces of fine sand.

Sea sand, most likely, due to the roundness of the particles.

Right, so who else knows about this?

STRANGE: So far, just us.

Dr. DeBryn was good enough to inform me and Detective Sergeant Strange first.

I think-- for the moment, at least-- such information should be contained amongst former City officers.

Well, then, we're a man shy, aren't we?

Where is Thursday?

No one is suggesting Detective Inspector Thursday has any involvement.

Not for a moment.

STRANGE: We just need to be sure of him.

Word on the wire is he's got pretty tight with Box.

You've gotten pretty tight with the A.C.C.

A.C.C.

Bottoms' probity is not in question here.

♪ ♪ Out, is it?

No, not tonight.

Oh.

I've seen someone.

A solicitor.

Right.

We can't go on this way.

No.

You in Sam's old room, me in ours.

I never asked for that.

No.

Well, it's done now.

Is it?

I think so.

Right.

It doesn't have to be nasty.

No.

Him, is it?

"Him"?

Him, up the Ballroom-- I followed you.

No, Fred, it isn't him-- it's you.

You keep the house.

I don't want it!

Any more than I wanted the oven.

Or clothes, or a holiday.

Then what do you want, Winifred?

I wanted my husband back, the man I married.

I don't want the house and I don't want the money.

God knows what you had to do to get it.

It was never about the money.

We've been without before-- it didn't matter.

It never mattered.

We had each other.

Well... Just give me what you want signing, and I'll sign it.

Is this Dinkley's Opticians?

Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

I dropped a pair of spectacles in this morning.

Your receptionist said that she would check the prescription against any of the patients you have with the initials H.B.

Hollis... Binks.

He's missed two appointments, has he?

And would you have an address for Mr. Binks?

(inserts key, unlocks door) ♪ ♪ Hello?

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ Did you get those figures?

Seen Morse?

He's not in his bunker.

Oh, he left word, he's pursuing inquiries.

What inquiries?

I don't know, he's your dog.

He's nobody's dog-- yours nor mine.

Oh, I didn't mean...

I don't care what you didn't mean.

You'll treat your colleagues with respect, or I'll know why.

Look, all right, don't bite my head off.

I'm just saying he's... Saying what?

Well, he's not... one of us.

Speaking of which.

Hey, you're all right.

We're all friends here.

Where's it come from?

Seeing as we're all friends.

Why do you care?

Say I do.

It's just baksheesh.

For a blind eye turned.

It's a bit late to be on a conscience, Fred.

(clicks) (quietly): Don't spend it all at once.

♪ ♪ (bicycle bell ringing) (bell tolling in distance) Clive Burkitt.

Councillor, Planning and Housing.

Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

I'm looking for any information you could have on Hollis Binks.

Hollis Binks, um...

Thank you, Miss Lansbury.

He was a borough surveyor here, I believe.

Oh, yes, yes, he was.

What is it you want to know about him?

Well, what he did at the council, when he left.

Just what his duties might have involved.

In connection with what?

He's not in any trouble, is he?

Oh, no, no.

Just a-- just a general enquiry.

Uh, well, he, uh...

He left about a year ago, I think.

Tendered his resignation and, uh, and that was that.

I think he found another position in the Northeast.

Well, I'd like to see it, please.

Sorry?

His resignation letter.

Presumably it's on file somewhere.

Yeah, I know, I, I would have thought so, yeah.

Yeah.

Actually, do you know what?

This really isn't the best time, what with, um, everything, um... Do you think we could catch it up later?

Ah, yes, yes, of course.

Any further idea what happened at Cranmer?

Gas.

Right.

Well, if you do dig out Binks's resignation letter, then I'd like to see it.

Of course.

♪ ♪ Miss Thursday, Ms. Wall.

Morse-- what are you up to?

I'm just looking for some information on a Hollis Binks, he was a borough surveyor here.

Oh, don't know him, I'm afraid.

I knew Hollis.

Been here years-- very thorough.

He quit without notice about a year ago.

Without notice?

Just up and left.

Councillor Burkitt said that he tendered his resignation.

VIV: First I've heard of it.

MORSE: Right.

What's he like, Burkitt?

No more slippery than any other politician.

You know, a lot said he'd never get Martyrs' Field built-- too expensive.

But he proved them wrong.

How's that?

Put his money where his mouth is-- well, other people's money.

His reputation was at stake.

Made it part of his election pledge in '64?

Doubled his majority.

Right.

Best crack on.

Be in the office, Joanie.

Thank you.

Sergeant.

How are you getting on at Cranmer House?

(sighs) We've got people scattered all over town-- bed and breakfasts, Sally Army.

Even squeezed some into undergrad digs.

It's, it's not ideal long-term, but... At least they're safe and dry for the time being.

How're things with you?

Oh... One day's much the same as the next.

I didn't mean work-- I meant you.

Oh, it's the same thing, isn't it?

Have you seen your father lately?

Not much-- why?

Well, I just wondered if he was all right.

Hasn't seemed himself lately.

Oh...

Anyway.

There it is.

Uh...

I'll... (footsteps retreating) (phone ringing) Bright.

Good morning, sir.

Lunch.

Yes, I'd be delighted.

Of course.

BURROWES: Shocking about Cranmer House, those poor people.

Mm.

This is about Mr.

Page, is it?

Well, partly.

I believe you had a bit of a row with him the other week, about a misplaced inventory?

Something to do with the Teagarden donation, was it?

Lost.

Not misplaced.

I'm somewhat at sea without it.

Uh, please.

And the other part?

You said, "Partly."

Yes.

I wanted to ask you about Hollis Binks.

I believe you knew him.

Your name's in his address book.

Yes, Hollis was a student of mine, and a fellow member of the Happy Wanderers Walking Club.

We did the Santiago de Compostela together.

A fine geologist.

Did Page ever mention him?

Not to me, no.

Why?

Only, his name was also in Binks's address book.

Presumably they knew each other.

The Gower Peninsula... Will that be a popular place for walkers?

For everyone-- holidaymakers.

(quietly): Yeah.

When was the last time you saw him, Binks?

Oh, not for years.

Um... Well, he wrote to me.

About a year ago.

About Faringdon Sponge Gravel.

Yes, that was it.

What's that?

It's part of the Greensand formed in the Cretaceous.

And what did he want to know?

Oh, if it was found anywhere other than Wicklesham.

It extends to Lower Coxwell and Fernham, but Wicklesham is the only place where it's quarried.

For aggregate, in the main.

Lovely walking there, if you're ever out that way.

♪ ♪ There may come a time to dig more deeply into Nero's activities, but the man is dead.

One more death in his debit column will bring him no nearer to facing justice.

That's certainly the view of senior officers at Division.

Few more senior than the assistant chief constable, I would have thought.

I'm merely relaying to you certain operational matters as have been explained to me.

There are things here that go far beyond Oxford and Thames Valley.

Best handled from London.

Such operational matters concern the councillor for Housing and Planning in what regard, may I ask?

BURKITT: I'm here in a purely advisory capacity, Reginald.

A troubleshooter, if you like.

Oh, yes.

I see.

What trouble do you intend to shoot today, Councillor?

Not me, I hope.

One of your colleagues from Cowley has been concerning himself unduly with matters of a... sensitive nature.

Matters with, um, potential ramification for some departments of local government.

Morse, is it?

His enthusiasm is commendable, but, uh, misplaced.

I'm in Traffic, sir.

I don't see how I can bring any influence to bear upon him.

Well, that brings me to my second point.

It seems a fearful waste of resources to have an officer of your experience and ability closed away in Traffic.

BURKITT (chuckling): There's no need to be coy.

We're all men here.

A.C.C.

Bottoms is moving to the Met next year.

Which will leave a vacancy up at Division.

It would be a fine way to finish one's service.

BURKITT: And some much needed good news for your wife, I'm sure.

My wife?

I may have mentioned.

Excuse me, sir.

(places glass down) I have a previous appointment elsewhere.

Councillor.

♪ ♪ Um...

I have a friend at the Royal Masonic.

Some new experimental cancer treatments are being looked at out of America.

A short list of patients suitable to take part in the trial is being drawn up.

I see.

If you change your mind... What are friends for?

We are not friends, Councillor, nor, I'm very happy to say, are we ever likely to be.

MORSE: You all right?

DOROTHEA: Kids, Morse.

Women and children.

Families destroyed.

(sniffs) When they tore down the Oxpens slums, it was meant to be a fresh start.

A brave new world.

Safe and clean and... (scoffs) How does it end like this?

A gas leak.

Isn't that the official line?

Official lie.

We're talking about a catastrophic structural failure.

Gas explosion or no, they're supposed to withstand anything like that.

It's the law.

Well, people have been known to break the law.

What do you make to Burkitt?

Martyrs' Field's got his name all over-- it's his legacy.

He's hardly likely to jeopardize that.

Is that what you wanted to ask me?

In part.

I'm more interested in anything you can tell me about Four Winds Aggregate.

Out at Wicklesham?

Mm-hmm.

George McGyffin's old firm-- you know him.

He's yards and works all over here-- Somerset, some... sea-dredging firm in Wales.

And he supplied materials for your new Divisional HQ.

Really?

Has he anything to do with Cranmer House?

They had a contract on the concrete side, I think, out of the council, before it closed down.

Right.

(inhales): And what about a Hollis Binks?

(door closes in distance) He was a borough surveyor up until about a year ago.

No.

No, I've not come across him-- why?

This librarian, Page, at the Bodleian.

Stabbed to death.

You think that's connected to what's happened here?

(sighing): Oh, I don't know.

Possibly.

I'm just poking around.

Who knows?

Someone knows.

(footsteps retreating) You've a works along the Gower, I understand.

Sea dredging.

The Nash Bank-- what of it?

Did Hollis Binks ever go there?

Who?

Hollis Binks, he was a borough surveyor.

No.

Really?

That's a surprise.

As he seemed to have an interest in your company Four Winds Aggregate.

You supplied the concrete for the Martyrs' Field development, didn't you?

What did you say your name was?

Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

Well, Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley, let me tell you something.

Construction site's no place for small boys with soft hands and clean shirts.

It's dirty work.

Dangerous work.

Man's work.

Accidents happen.

That sounds like a threat.

Advice, son.

You ever seen a shovel fight?

That's how navvies used to settle their differences on site.

I once seen two brothers go at each other with shovels.

20 minutes, it lasted.

Hell of a thing.

(chuckling): Oh, and the noise.

Only finished when one of them took the other one's arm off at the shoulder.

Go home.

Go on, go home.

Forget about Hollis Binks and Four Winds.

I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr. McGyffin.

That's too bad.

The boys'll show you safe back to your car.

It's all right, I can manage.

♪ ♪ (engine starts) (closes drawer) ♪ ♪ Bloody hell.

♪ ♪ (knock at door) Any news?

I had a dig around for this gun used on George.

We've been looking in the wrong place.

It was used in a wages snatch in '64 in Reading.

Amongst the investigating officers was DS Ronnie Box.

Then we've got him.

Well, we're going to move against him, it's got to be solid.

We're accusing him of killing a fellow police officer.

Depending how far this goes, we get one shot.

It's got to stick.

What's that, Jim?

Oh, uh... Just popped in to see Morse.

Is that right?

Well, you've got business.

I won't keep you.

Sir.

Where'd you get to?

Oh, something came up.

Pursuing inquiries, DS Jago said.

What inquiries?

Oh, it's nothing, probably.

The guvnor was asking about an unknown out at Cranmer House.

Said you'd know about it.

What is it-- something off the books?

He said all the old Cowley firm knew about it.

I don't.

♪ ♪ (phone ringing) Morse.

Oh, Miss Teagarden, good afternoon.

Yes, in about half an hour?

Very well, until then-- thank you.

(replaces receiver) It's come down from Division.

Whatever you're about, they want to pass it to the Yard.

Well, I can't help them.

Come on, we can talk straight.

Can we?

'Course, this is you and me.

Doesn't feel that way.

In fact, it hasn't felt that way since I got to Castle Gate.

Feels more like you and Box.

No, that's fine.

Things change.

You don't owe me anything, but I don't owe him anything, either.

Certainly not loyalty.

He's not my guvnor-- never will be.

♪ ♪ You know, there is a line.

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

♪ ♪ THURSDAY: It's all there, every penny.

BOX: I don't get it.

What's to get?

I had a mad half-hour, that's all.

It's over.

Have a drink.

You're not thinking straight.

I'm thinking straight for the first time in a long while.

Maybe for the first time since George Fancy.

Fancy?

That's what's got you by the tail?

He's nothing to do with this.

He's everything to do with it.

He stood for something.

I take this, I might as well piss on his grave.

Look.

There's no comeback, if that's what you're worried about.

It's bent.

The world's bent.

Always has been.

We can't fix it.

We can try.

Everybody else dips their beak-- for a sight less than us.

Protection money?

Yeah.

We protect people.

Every time we turn out.

'Cause it's our job.

Not for this, not for a kickback.

Makes us no different to Eddie Nero.

We are no different!

There are two kinds of people, Fred.

Those who take, and them that get taken.

I know what side I'm on.

So do I. I always have done.

It slipped my mind.

I thought I was owed.

I was wrong.

This job don't owe me anything.

So I'm giving it back.

It doesn't work like that.

It works how I say it does.

How you live your life is your business.

You don't have to worry about me.

I'm putting in for a transfer.

I'll be out of your hair.

Mind how you go.

♪ ♪ DEBORAH: I was closing up the house when I came across a bundle of letters at the back of my grandfather's writing desk.

Well, photostats.

The originals, I imagine, went with the rest of the bequest materials.

To Garstang College.

At first, I thought my grandfather must have kept them for the stamp-- they were from Oslo, from a friend there.

But I couldn't see why he would have made copies if it was just the stamp he was interested in.

Do you read German?

(chuckles): Uh, no, no, I'm afraid not.

They're about my Great-Uncle Emil and his family.

Emil, scientist?

Uh, physicist.

Physicist, sorry.

He was part of the Meitner-Hahn group in Berlin researching heavy elements.

But with the passing of the Race Laws, things became impossible for him.

Yeah, I don't doubt it.

Many of his colleagues fled Germany, but he was a patriot.

Afraid his work might fall into the wrong hands, he smuggled his notebooks out of Germany to someone he met while lecturing at Oxford.

Someone he later came to believe had betrayed him.

Right.

STRANGE (voiceover): You wanted to see me, Worshipful Master.

Someone's threatening the good works and reputation of this lodge.

A man known to you.

How's that?

Morse, Brother.

Let us not deal falsely, eh?

We need to check his inquiries.

You'd be doing him a bit of good.

If you appeal to his reason, well, can't hurt your prospects, then, can it, eh?

Inspector Strange.

Inspector?

For those who keep their oaths, Brother... all things are possible.

♪ ♪ The Page case.

Miss Teagarden came across a bundle of letters-- well, copies of letters-- that she found to have been given to Garstang College as part of the Teagarden bequest.

Concerning?

Concerning the German side of the family, the Baumgartens.

You remember Burrowes said that he used to go hiking on the continent before the war.

Digging for fossils?

That's right.

Well, on one such trip, he met and fell in love with Deborah Baumgarten-- Jewish.

She perished, along with her family, at a labor camp called Mittelbau-Dora.

I know Mittelbau.

V-2 rockets.

Her father had been a physicist before the war.

He lectured here at Oxford, where he befriended a maths undergrad at Garstang College.

Dora.

What was written up on Nicholson's blackboard.

Exactly.

So according to these letters, Nicholson promised to get the Baumgartens out of Germany.

But when they arrived at the embassy, no one had so much as heard of them.

Why would Nicholson betray him?

Baumgarten came to believe that Nicholson had only ever been interested in his notebooks, which he'd sent before him, to Oxford, for safekeeping.

And Burrowes?

Well, 20 years later, Burrowes was going through the Teagarden bequest, finds these letters and this banknote.

It was found by Miss Paroo at the Bodleian.

(exhales) Used for currency at Camp Mittelbau-Dora.

Mm.

Now, I believe that Burrowes and Page had a blazing row over items that Page cleared away from the library.

I just wonder what the significance of it is.

Maybe this is what Burrowes was looking for in Page's flat.

♪ ♪ (brakes squeak) (car doors close) BURROWES: Geology teaches a man patience.

All my life-- well, the part of it which mattered-- I've mourned her fate.

But to find now that it could have been avoided?

Should have been avoided?

That... we might have had a life together... Nicholson took that from me.

Well, worse-- far worse.

He let them perish.

I wanted him to pay for that.

So you started this campaign.

The things left in his cubby hole.

The little figurine of a golem.

The word "Dora" chalked up on his board.

Did Page find this Mittelbau-Dora banknote of yours?

Was he aware that you were behind this war of nerves with Nicholson?

Is that why you killed him?

Page?

Yes, Page!

(chuckling): I had nothing whatever to do with Page!

I left that banknote in the Bodleian by accident, with my list of stamps.

As far as I was aware, it was lost.

So you went to Page's flat looking for the banknote.

(chuckling): No.

Even if Osbert Page had found it, it wouldn't have meant anything to him.

I freely admit the rest.

Jasper Nicholson got nothing less than he deserved.

(chuckling): But Page?

That was nothing to do with me.

We know who's been sending you these messages and all the rest of it.

And we know why.

They've been spoken to, you won't be getting any more, but I can't say as I don't feel some sympathy for who's responsible, given what you did.

(stammering): What I did?

You promised Emil Baumgarten and his family that you'd get them to safety.

But at the last, you just left them to their fate.

I tried... to get them out.

(stammering): I, I did everything that was humanly possible, all that was in my power to do, but it was too late.

But not too late to take his work for your own.

(stammering): What do you mean, "his work"?

Yeah, his notebooks.

You could at least have given the man credit for his own work.

(exhales) So that's what you think.

Well, you must think it.

Dr. Nicholson... Emil's work was flawed!

I mean, terribly, monstrously flawed!

(stammering): As I read through his notes, it became clear to me, and it would have been obvious to anyone else who saw, that he had suffered some kind of breakdown.

(sighs) His mind... Oh, his beautiful, wonderful mind, all... unraveling there before me, on the pages.

The, uh, anxiety and stress of his situation, the worry for his family, well, it must have, um...

So, uh... we burnt his notebooks.

You destroyed them?

What else should I have done?

I had to protect him from those devils.

They might have taken his life, but I swore to be resolved that they would not take his reputation.

(exhales) He was my friend, and... (voice breaking): I failed him.

Uh...

I've carried the shame of that failure-- my failure-- for more than 25 years.

Now, I'm a man profoundly without faith...

But, I promise you, not a day has gone by that I have not, with utter humility, said the Mourner's Kaddish for Emil Baumgarten and his murdered family.

No golem, then.

Seemingly not.

Burrowes is a rambler.

If the muddy boot prints aren't his, whose are they?

♪ ♪ What's wrong?

Nothing.

I'll drop you at the station.

And I'll put Box in the picture.

The Bridge of Sighs was built just before...

BOY: Look!

It's the Pelican Man!

(children talking excitedly in background) ♪ ♪ (breathing nervously) ♪ ♪ (children growing louder) (yelling) What's this?

(children clamoring) ♪ ♪ (children clamoring) Yes, yes, of course, you can.

You see it on the television, huh?

(brakes squeak) (engine stops) What's going on?

Well, I know you, so you must be McGyffin.

Is he running you, or are you running him?

It's all right, Ronnie.

Why don't you go and wait by the car, eh?

THURSDAY: Guess that answers that.

Is he working you with his foot, or what?

You should hear 'em out, Fred.

For your own sake.

I understand you're leaving Oxford, Inspector.

Putting in for a transfer.

Word gets around.

Yeah, well, that's all very lovely, but you need to settle your mess bill before you go.

Your boy's sticking his beak in where it's not wanted.

You stop him, or we will.

You don't know Morse.

How's Charlie?

What'd you say?

Word is the Yard's looking for your brother in connection with a long firm fraud.

I wouldn't know about that.

There's a check with your name on says different.

On the other hand, if Morse could be persuaded to do the right thing...

He's an idealist.

Sure, we all are.

Maybe once, Councillor.

Now you're just a villain.

Same as this two-bob hawk.

Look.

You play fair, and all your troubles... disappear.

The check?

Gone.

Everything back to how it was.

Just bring him out to Wicklesham tomorrow.

Maybe between us, we can talk some sense into him.

♪ ♪ Fred... (grunts) What you got me into, you cowson?

You can't beat 'em, Fred.

I know.

I thought it'd just be a nice little tickle, in and out, no harm done, but...

But once you're in...

These boys play for keeps.

It's you or Morse.

(gasping) ♪ ♪ (elevator doors close) Everything all right?

Yeah.

I've been to see Burrowes.

And?

So I think I know who killed Page.

Or who ordered it, at least, even if he didn't do his own dirty work.

Drink?

Thanks.

Page had been looking into the disappearance of a fellow rambler, a man called Hollis Binks.

You remember, the initials we found in his flat, on the map on the wall-- H.B.

Who is Binks?

Binks was the borough surveyor.

His body was recovered from the foundations of Cranmer House.

Box's unknown?

Why wasn't I told?

Well, I'm telling you now.

I think Binks's death and Page's death are both related to what happened at Cranmer House.

Cranmer House was built by McGyffin Construction using concrete which should have contained high-quality sand from Four Winds Aggregate out at Wicklesham.

But McGyffin also owns another place out on the Gower coast.

The Gower.

That's where Page wrote "H.B."

on the map.

Yeah.

I think he was adulterating the concrete with unwashed sea sand from the Gower coast.

So?

So, salt.

Well, the sodium in the sea sand concrete mix would have corroded the iron rebars running through Cranmer House, weakening the entire structure.

Concrete cancer, they call it.

That's why the tower collapsed.

I think they were using substandard material, charging full price, and pocketing the difference.

So Binks worked out McGyffin was running a scam.

Yeah, him and his former boss Councillor Burkitt.

He had been to see Professor Burrowes to talk about geology before he died.

They killed Binks and Osbert Page?

Well, I've got forensics looking into the muddy boot prints we found both in the library and at Page's flat.

And I'm convinced that it's going to be the same material will be found at Wicklesham Quarry.

If Page was worried about Binks, why didn't he come to us?

Report him missing?

Maybe he was afraid.

Of what?

Of us!

If a senior councillor is involved, then who knows how far it goes?

Say you're right.

People like that, it only goes one way.

What're you saying?

It's a hiding to nothing.

You want another Blenheim Vale?

You got to let it drop.

Who are you trying to protect?

Box?

That what you think?

It wasn't, but maybe I was wrong, and everyone else is right.

About what?

About you.

I thought I knew who you were, but this year, I barely recognize you.

You've always given me too much credit.

I'm not what you think.

What is going on?

You've got to let it go.

I can't.

That's an order!

♪ ♪ (drawer rattling) (Morse exhales, phone ringing) Morse.

MAX (on phone): Ah, there you are, it's Max.

Late for you.

Listen, I've just had the results through on your muddy boot prints.

Ah.

As suspected, consistent with material found locally at Wicklesham.

Sorry, wait a minute.

(in distance): Can I help you?

(objects clattering over phone) Doctor?

Max?

(call ends, dial tone buzzing) (mariachi ballad playing) I'm off to bed now.

Right.

I'm sorry.

I made a mess of things, I...

I love you.

"Sorry" was all I wanted.

I know.

I've loved you too long to stop now.

I should've said it sooner.

♪ In the land of by and by ♪ ♪ You will know me by my sorrow ♪ Better late than never.

♪ And I will know you by your smile ♪ (volume increases): ♪ Tears are for tomorrow ♪ ♪ Now is for goodbye ♪ ♪ Come the dawn I must be going ♪ ♪ But for now, dear, please don't cry ♪ ♪ So vaya con Dios, Felina ♪ ♪ Farewell, my sweet cactus rose ♪ (phone ringing) ♪ For the bugler is playing Degüello ♪ (phone continues ringing) ♪ And for me it's the big adios ♪ ♪ Whip-poor-wills are calling ♪ ♪ Now as shades of evening fall ♪ (music fading slightly) I heard the telephone.

Yes.

Yes, it was, uh...

It was just work.

What's wrong?

(softly): A moment's courage or a lifetime of regret.

♪ For when the bugler plays Degüello ♪ That's always been the choice.

♪ No quarter will be given ♪ (clock ticking, song ends) ♪ ♪ JAGO: Surprised?

You couldn't see me for Box.

No one's coming.

It's how we came into the world-- you, me, all of us.

We're born and we die alone.

♪ ♪ (engine stops) ♪ ♪ (car door closes) All right, Morse?

MCGYFFIN: You picked the wrong team, Brother.

STRANGE: We're City men.

First and last.

We mind our own.

Where's DeBryn?

Alive?

Last time I looked.

It's all right, Doctor.

We'll have you home safe soon.

That's not how this goes, you must have known that.

You can't believe you'll get away with the murder of four police officers and a Home Office pathologist!

They plan to hang the crimes on us, sir.

Who killed Fancy-- you or Ronnie?

Box?

It was his gun.

Once.

But he's not the sand for man's work, or he'd be here now.

You stole Nero's heroin.

It's the next big thing.

You took over his whole business-- the protection, the drugs, everything.

Who better than a copper to know every filthy racket in the city?

How many times you seen 'em get away with it, Fred?

It's a stacked deck.

The truth will come out.

Oh, the truth'll be what I put in my report.

A falling-out of corrupt coppers... (cocks gun): And I settled the last man standing.

(siren blaring in distance) Al!

(siren continues) DS Jago may bear some influence over Uniform and C.I.D., but his writ will not run as far as Traffic.

(sirens blaring) Sod this.

Get out!

Get out!

(guns cocking) Take 'em!

Split up!

(grunting, shouting) (sirens blaring) ♪ ♪ (object clatters in distance) (metal squeaking in distance) (footsteps pounding in distance) (metal clatters) (creaking) JAGO: It's over, Fred.

Put it down.

(places gun on floor) MORSE: Drop the gun!

(cocks gun) Now!

You wouldn't shoot a man in the back, would you, Morse?

The same way you shot George Fancy?

He was just in the wrong place.

Drug money.

Put him down.

(footsteps approaching) (door creaking) Well, well, well.

Guvnor.

Found some bottle at last.

MORSE: We can all still walk out of here alive!

JAGO: Boss?

BOX: No, we can't.

(guns fire, Jago gasps) (Jago falls) (breathing heavily) ♪ ♪ I couldn't let 'em do it.

♪ ♪ Who'd've thought... Ronnie?

Ronnie!

(hits floor) ♪ ♪ Ronnie... ♪ ♪ Get an ambulance.

(birds squawking) STRANGE: All right, thanks.

Burkitt?

Turned Queen's.

Put the black spot on all of them.

He say who did for Page?

McGyffin's heavies, on his orders.

That was the hospital.

Box is 50-50.

BRIGHT: The report will reflect a drugs ring smashed, a criminal conspiracy unmasked, and the death of a brave detective constable finally avenged.

STRANGE: And A.C.C.

Bottoms?

Is to take early retirement.

The force cannot be judged by the behavior of a few rotten apples.

Division have assured me there will be changes.

For the better, I hope.

Indeed.

Alas, I will be leaving Traffic to assume overall command at Castle Gate.

But with impending losses, I shall need a reliable detective sergeant, if you're done with your Forward Planning Committee.

Sir.

And a good man to head C.I.D., Acting Chief Inspector?

Might you be persuaded to forgo your transfer?

Depends on home, sir.

As does so much.

(quietly): Morse.

Sir.

Very well.

Carry on.

(chuckles softly) ♪ ♪ There's a... bagman's desk going begging, if you want it.

(phone ringing) Castle Gate C.I.D.

DS Strange speaking.

I'll be needing a car.

Well, I'm sure we can find you something.

Got Mrs. Thursday on the blower.

I said you're fine, but she doesn't sound best pleased.

Wants to know what time you're coming home.

Tell her he'll be home shortly.

Go on-- I can manage.

I know you can.

Right, then.

Usual time in the morning.

♪ ♪ (phone ringing) Morse, Thames Valley.

(door opens) (door closes) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ (click) ♪ ♪ CUMMING: 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.

♪ ♪