Endeavour

All right, yes, please, and thank you.

All aboard for the last bus.

That's it, move right along down inside.

Oh, wait! All right, darling, hop on.

Bleeding brass monkeys. Ta for waiting.

Always room for one more on top.

Yes, please.

Any more for Mrs Moore?

How far are you going, then, love? All the way, is it?

Chipping Compton, the end of the route.

Turning around here for Oxford.

End of the route!

All passengers alight, please!

You'll be all right a minute?

Call of nature.

Geez...

You'll get frostbite. Hey?

You're flying tonight.

Come on, then, let's get going.

The body was found by the local beat man just after six.

Do we know who he was?

Professor Patrick Stanton.

Going by an envelope in his pocket and the maths papers in his case,

he was a don at Wolsey College.

The wallet's untouched, so it doesn't look to be a robbery.

There's a bus ticket in his pocket

that says he boarded the 33 at stage two in town.

Does he live out this way?

The beat man doesn't recognise him as local.

So, visiting someone, maybe.

He'd have to be, wouldn't he?

Bugger all else here, except for the boneyard.

And it's a bit late for leaving flowers.

We'll see if door-to-door gives us anyone who knows him.

Doctor...

What have we got?

Given the temperature overnight,

it's quite difficult to offer a precise time.

But most likely the time of death was between ten and midnight.

Cause of death would appear to be loss of blood...

..as the result of a number of stab wounds.

I'll be able to say exactly which have been fatal

after the postmortem.

What's that with his eyes?

Someone's carved a cross into each one.

Some sort of religious nutcase?

Oh...

Do you think, Sergeant?

It struck me as perhaps more clown-like.

I don't think Billy Smart's will pack in many looking like that.

The kids would run out screaming.

Signs and wonders, Chief Inspector.

Signs and wonders.

Something right up Morse's apse, I'd have thought.

Not with you this morning?

No, he's, erm...

..rung in sick.

Ah.

Yes, well, there's a lot of it about this time of year.

Unless there's anything else, shall we say two o'clock?

According to the Master of Wolsey, Professor Stanton was well-liked.

He'd been at the college for six years and

lived alone in North Oxford.

What about family? A sister in Swanage.

Other than that, a single man without an enemy in the world,

as far as we can make out.

And where's Morse in all of this?

One can generally depend upon him to contribute something useful.

He's off sick, sir.

He was off sick several days last month, wasn't he?

Is he seeing anyone? Not that I know, sir.

He's just a bit run down, I expect.

I'm no fool, Thursday. And nor are you.

He's not been himself for quite some time.

That Venice business, presumably.

He blames himself, sir, for...

Well, for everything, really.

It's nearly a year.

If he can't pull himself out of it...

Wasn't there talk about a transfer to Kidlington at some stage,

a change of scene, leave all this behind?

There was, sir, but...

Well, to be honest,

I've just got used to having him around.

We're officers, Thursday.

The men come first, always.

Whatever the personal cost.

Well...

This was a sustained attack.

The majority of the wounds...

Sergeant.

..were to the front and back of the torso.

The wounds penetrated the aorta,

the descending thoracic and abdominal areas.

Another, the left ventricle of the heart.

He really didn't stand a chance of recovery from either.

Anything on the weapon?

A large single-bladed knife about eight to 12 inches in length.

Right or left-handed?

The injuries to the eyes aside,

these were stabbing wounds, rather than slashes.

But more likely right than left.

Doctor.

So, what have we got there? Not much.

Just his work papers,

which he looks to be marking up in red ink.

And an envelope addressed to Stanton at Wolsey.

Sent the day before yesterday.

How did you make out at Chipping Compton?

It's a bit of a dead-and-alive hole.

He wasn't known to anyone of the locals.

At least, nobody recognised his name or description.

So, what was he doing there, then?

Oxford 2831.

'May I speak to Mr Thursday?' No.

No, he's at work.

This is Mrs Thursday.

Doesn't ring a bell.

We've a ticket that says he was on your bus.

May have been. Don't remember him.

Many left on board when you got to Chipping Compton?

One or two maybe.

Could you describe them? The usual, innit?

Business types, academics, the odd drunk,

courting couples, old people, students.

Anyone else?

I don't watch them thinking there's gonna be a quiz.

What about you, Mr Peckett? I don't see much from the cab.

And it was foggy.

We was crawling all the way back.

We didn't get back till gone two.

Can anyone vouch for you?

One of the mechanics on the night shift, maybe.

And whoever you've got at home, presumably.

My mother-in-law don't sleep so good,

so I took her in her tea when I got home.

What about you, Mr Grant?

No fear. No little scrubber's got a ball and chain on me yet.

Well, if you run into any passengers you recognise from last night,

just point them out to DS Strange here.

He'll be travelling with you this evening.

All right.

All right.

What do you make to them? The driver seems decent enough.

I wouldn't give you two bob for Quasimodo.

No, me, neither.

Show Stanton's face around to as many passengers as you can,

see if it jogs any memories.

He was on that bus long enough. Somebody will have seen him.

Excuse me, gentlemen...

Are either of you a DCI Thursday from Castle Gate Police Station?

Yeah, that's me. There's a phone call for you.

- DCI Thursday. - 'Ah, Thursday.'

The Control Room did try to reach you in the car.

Your wife telephoned.

Asked if you could drop by home. 'She said it's of some urgency.'

Thank you, sir.

Win? Front room.

What's going on? He's not been hurt,

that's the first thing to say. That we know of.

What do you mean?

It's Sam.

A man called, a Captain Stanhope from his unit,

his regiment over there.

I wrote it all down.

He wants to know if we've heard from him.

He's missing? Absent without leave,

his officer said.

He had an afternoon pass yesterday, apparently,

and he didn't return to barracks.

They don't know where he is.

Hello, matey.

I wasn't sure we'd see you today.

Feeling better? Yeah, much.

Where's, er...?

The old man? Mm-hm.

Oh, of course, you won't have heard, will you?

What?

He was last seen in a city bar, according to his CO.

He may have got involved with a local girl.

A lot of the lads have, apparently.

But nobody knows who she is.

He might have gone AWOL over her, but it'd be out of character.

If you need to go out there...

Thank you, sir, but the officer said

I'd just be one more thing for them to worry about.

Well, you're to take whatever compassionate leave you need.

Mrs Thursday will want you home, I'm sure.

Win's got our Joan looking after her, sir.

I don't think she'd want me under her feet as well.

I'm better here, to be honest, working.

Whatever you think best, of course.

A couple of passengers have come forward

to help us build a picture of who else was on the bus.

So far, we've got a business type in a bowler, moustache, 40s.

A girl, 20s, in a PVC mac and white go-go boots.

A drunk, medium height, medium build,

clerk type, 30s possibly.

A younger man, a student type reading a book.

And an elderly woman, retired maybe.