Endeavour - Ninth Season

'It always starts with a body.

'Then come the questions.

'That's where I come in.

'Jolliphant's the name.

'Detective Superintendent Jolyon Jolliphant.

' "Jolly" for short.'

Now, you do remember you very kindly promised to give Raph your vote

in the upcoming elections.

I mean, we will know if he comes up short,

and if by some unhappy circumstance he should come up short...

...there will be remonstrances...

and likely worse.

That's the slate. Yes?

Chin-chin! THEY LAUGH

'Constable Banks? Cut along to old Ma Peggoty's

'and see if you can't sort out these young tearaways.'

'Yes, Sarge.'

'Now... I'm sure what happened to DCI Blaze will be on your mind.

'A good copper, gunned down in the line of duty.'

TRAIN RUMBLES, BOTTLE CLINKS

COUGHING

'But you can rely on this.

'When it comes to one of our own, we leave no stone unturned.'

'No, Sarge.'

'Meantime, the best you and me can do

'is stick to our duties and do 'em to the best of our ability.'

HE YELLS

MOTORBIKE REVS

TRAIN RUMBLES

Well, well, well.

I say, you fellows.

Here's sport.

PUNCHING, MAN SCREAMS

BOYS CHEER AND LAUGH

'Every barrel has its bad apples.

'But in my book, there are very few creatures on this Earth

'lower than a bent copper.

'Now, I don't know what led him down that path, but whatever it was,

'death has a way of wiping a man's slate clean in this world.

'I can't speak as to the next.'

UPBEAT CREDIT MUSIC

Kettle on? Hm.

'The finding of this board

'is that the tragic events of last December,

'which led to the shooting of DI Thursday

'and the arrest of DS Morse,

'were due solely to a mental breakdown

'suffered by ACC Clive Deare.

'We are also of a view that further investigation

'into other extraneous matters

'would NOT be in the national interest.

'To which end, all investigative materials

'relating to Blenheim Vale Boys' Home

'are to be sealed for 50 years.'

Morning, Morse. Good morning, Mrs Thursday.

There's tea in the pot if you want to go through.

Ah, no time this morning, I'm afraid.

Fred tells me Jim Strange has asked you to be best man

for him and Joan's...

Yes. Yes, that's right.

It'll mean a lot to him.

Well, to both of them, I'm sure.

Sam settling back in all right? Morse.

Morning, Sir. Much in?

Local beat man found him on his rounds

not long after six.

Anything to say who he was? Dosser, by the looks of him.

They hang out here and the wasteland by the old Kemble Theatre.

Morning, Doctor. Chief Inspector.

Much to go on?

Male, late 50s, early 60s,

most likely not in the best of health,

multiple injuries, looks like he took a serious beating.

What's with all the, uh, blood?

Someone stuck a broken bottle in his neck.

Whether that's what did for him, or he was already on his way out...

I'm afraid I won't be able to express an opinion

until after the postmortem.

Shall we say two o'clock?

Doctor.

It's £20.

What's left of it. Burnt.

That's a lot of money. Can't see him doing that.

Maybe that's what he fell out with his mates over.

See if you can run his pals to ground, find out what they got.

Jim, you take me back to the station.

TRAIN RUMBLES

JAZZ MUSIC PLAYS

HE GROANS

"Fear not: for behold, I give you good tidings of great joy."

The results are in...

Mr President.

A vagrant? Kicked to death...

or stabbed with a broken bottle, according to Doctor DeBryn.

I dunno what the world's coming to.

Most days, I barely recognise it at all.

No, Sir.

Criminal damage... cars smashed and stolen,

violence between gangs of young men on Carfax in broad daylight,

wanton lawlessness.

This is Oxford! It's not New York.

No, Sir.

Have you thought any more about Carshall?

Yes, Sir.

I've decided to put in for it.

It'll mean a move, but... that could be good for the family.

Joan'll be settled, and...

...I'd like to see Sam properly back on his feet.

I'm sure.

How's he readjusting to civilian life?

Pretty well, Sir. Thank you. All things considered.

TIN CLANGS Hello?

I'm the police.

It's all right.

It's all right, no need to be scared.

I'd just like to talk to you.

Devils? "In the shape of men."

The hell she mean by that? Oh, I don't know. She was terrified.

She said they looked like Fred Astaire,

only their faces were wrong.

Four or five of them.

That's what I'm to report to Mr Bright, is it?

Case like that, she's drunk from dusk till dawn,

it's hard to know what she's seen.

Any of them have a name for him? Hugh or Hughie, no surname.

I wouldn't put your hopes in getting to the bottom of it.

These types blow into town without a trace

and blow out again just the same.

Unreliable witnesses at best.

And that's if you can ever find 'em again.

Er, anything further on Brenda Lewis' time at Landesman's?

There was a Missing Persons case, in her name in '63

but closed shortly afterwards.

She worked directly for Joe Landesman as his personal secretary.

Nothing more from Ronnie Box, I don't suppose?

Weren't expecting anything, were we? You never know with Box.

I wouldn't put it past him to keep something up his sleeve

till he's worked out whether it plays to his advantage.

Might be worth giving him another tickle,

see if we can jog his memory. PHONE RINGING

Thursday.

BELL CHIMES, BOYS CHATTER AND LAUGH

Maybe we should cool it for a bit.

"Cool it"? The police...

Aren't going to bother themselves too much over some filthy old man.

You know, if I didn't know better, Archie-boy...

...I'd say you were losing your nerve.

No, no. It... It's not like that, Raph.

I do hope not.

You got rid of it yet? No.

Not yet.

So... cause of death was finally exsanguination.

The jagged end of the bottle punctured his left carotid artery

and jugular vein.

Half a dozen wounds.

One hesitates to say frenzied,

but it certainly wasn't just an unlucky blow.

When you say "finally"?

He was already in a pretty poor state.

Ruptured spleen. A number of cracked ribs.

Fractured humerus. Liver laceration which...

could have proved fatal if left unattended.

That was all from the beating?

Oh, yes. Three or four assailants, I'd have said.

Multiple contusions and abrasions.

I've put his bits and pieces on the side.

Kept his wedding ring.

Must've meant something to him.

Else he'd have pawned it long since

and chucked the proceeds down his neck.

Kiddies.

Probably in their 30s by now.

Not much to show for a life.

We enter the world with nothing and leave with much the same.

Kings and beggars both.

The rich man at his table...

...poor man kicked and stabbed to death.

Where was the beret? In the coat.

TELEPHONE RINGING

How'd it go?

Ex-soldier, as it turns out.

Limehouse Rifles. My old unit. Much in over lunch?

Trying to work my way through the motors

that got vandalised on the Broad last night.

Turns out the sports car that got pinched

belongs to the Lady Mayoress. So...

And we've got a missing person.

Locals are short-handed, so they've asked us to deal.

Where's this? Out Slepe way.

DOOR SQUEAKS

Afternoon, I'm, er, Detective Sergeant Morse, Thames Valley.

Miss Baynard, would it be? Freya.

You reported a Paul Baynard missing, is that right?

My dad. He locked up after work,

and then went on his bike about eight thirty.

I thought he was going to The Wheatsheaf in the village,

about three miles. And when did you expect him back?

Chucking out time.

Is there anyone you can think of that he might've gone to stay with?

No.