Grantchester

- He's young, he's fit -- - He's good looking. >

Easy... I suppose he is.

So, what's the catch, I hear you ask?

Well, I'll tell you.

Jazz, it's a bloody racket.

But if you can put up with that, he's a keeper.

I don't care for modern music.

It's the devil's work, if you ask me.

How did you say you knew each other?

I was the barmaid at Geordie's old local,

weren't I, Keatsy?

And of course the drinking will have to stop.

I prefer a little bit of music hall myself.

You know, Max Miller, Marie Lloyd.

I love jazz. Have you heard of Sidney Bechet?

Sidney bloody Beckett!

A friend of mine's band is playing some of his pieces

on Jesus Green tomorrow, if you'd like to join me?

I'm afraid I'm busy tomorrow.

You came.

How are you?

I thought that everybody hated me.

Of course they don't, Gary.

You're awfully kind, but I wouldn't want the village thinking

you're taking my side over theirs.

There are no sides, Mrs Bell.

Sidney!

I don't know where Geordie finds these women.

They're either drunks or nuns.

Imagine what they're saying about you!

Well, I think it's wonderful that you're out there.

It is time you found someone for yourself.

Listen, there's a fair on Midsummer Common this weekend.

I thought we could go to the new Velasquez exhibition --

Sidney, Guy's only away for a couple of days.

I'm staying at home. My father will expect to see me at some point.

Bring him along. You know how much he likes me.

Mr Chambers!

Inspector Keating on the telephone.

Hello, Mrs Maguire!

Mrs Hopkins.

I'll be in Cambridge later on. We can meet for a coffee.

And maybe some Velasquez if it's not too late.

Mr Chambers!

Inspector Keating said it was urgent.

My God, what's happened?

The body's a mess, I think he jumped.

So, how can I help?

Valentine Lyall, 46.

- Suicide? - Yeah, I think so.

I was hoping you might know him. He was a fellow at Corpus Christi.

It's your old college, wasn't it?

It must've been after my time.

The porters say there's a staircase to the roof.

Then it's hand and foot if he went any higher.

He could've been night climbing.

We used to do it as students.

Maybe he fell?

Blood's dry. Must've happened in the middle of the night.

- So? - If I fell from there, I'd be screaming blue murder.

Sure one of this lot would've heard it sooner than that.

He didn't scream.

Val? - Mya! - Val?

Stop, wait! - Val? - Hold on!

- Mya! - I'm sorry.

- This is my husband. - No.

Get off me! - No. - Val!

- Stop this. - I have a right to see him!

I'm not letting you see him! It's all right!

Look, I'm sorry. He's in no condition to be seen.

Do you understand?

I'm sorry.

We were drinking in the Maypole until around ten...

and then we said goodbye on Sidney Street.

The first I heard anything was wrong was when Mya telephoned the college

around 2 am. We were looking for him all night.

Val always told me if he was going to be late.

- And he didn't say anything about going climbing? - No.

But it was a clear night.

That's when you get the best views.

He was always doing it.

- Mum! - Tala, go to your room.

I'll be up in a moment.

Vicar?

Er... yes, thanks.

- Phwoar! - Sorry, they're menthol filtered, from London.

- So, you were one of his students? - No. I'm a linguist.

But I am at Corpus.

- We were friends. - Val loved Kit.

He's part of the family.

Please.

Thank you.

- What is it? - Lahpet.

You were in Burma?

Valentine too. That's where we met.

Do you think it's possible Valentine could've taken his own life?

No. No!

- He was happy. - He was fine in the pub.

- No note, anything like that? - I know this is a lot to take in.

We'll do everything we can to get to the bottom of this for you.

Do you mind if we go through his things?

You never talk about Burma.

Don't you think it's odd that a bloke could be so tidy, hm?

There's no dirty underwear, no loose ends.

Like it's already been cleaned up.

I don't think she's hiding anything.

And Bartlett?

He cares about Lyall, all right.

Friends?

20-year age gap?

You could say the same thing about us.

What, 20 years? You wish.

Anyway, you're not my type.

Maybe he's just neat.

Nosebleeds.

Happens a lot with climbers.

The thinner air at altitude dries out your sinuses.

Can I help in any way?

Where did you go when you parted ways last night?

Back to college.

I had a drink with Dr Raban, my Russian tutor.

Had some rather good vodka.

If it was suicide maybe Lyall left a note in his study.

- We should check. - Mr Chambers?

Hello, Frank.

- What's the secret? - Secret, sir?

To eternal youth?

Oh, that would be the scotch, sir.

If only.

Frank Archer, Head Porter,

this is Inspector Geordie Keating.

I take it this is about poor Mr Lyall?

We'd like to see his room, please.

You'll need to speak to the Master.

He'll be pleased to see you, sir.

Inspector!

- Chambers. - Sir.

Lyall never struck me as the suicidal type,

but you can never tell.

He was a charming man,

gifted professor of English.

Although, sadly, as fond of the bar as he was the bard.

You would've got on.

He could be immature, irresponsible.

I mean, this childish penchant

for dare devilry with a family at home.

They must feel so abandoned.

All right, there's nothing here.

Think we can move on.

And what is your role here anyway?

Has the clergy widened its remit?

Or are you just sticking your nose in where you shouldn't again?

What did you do? Piss in his port?

Something like that.

Nowhere near.

So he must've come off the turret?

- Exactly. - Go on then, Phil.

I'm not going up there.

The Porters hire specialist cleaners. They'll be here Monday.

It's a nice view. Not sure I'd risk my neck for it though.

I suppose it's tradition.

Pushing your limits, beating the night.

It's stupid really, but it makes sense when you're young.

But he was 46,

with a wife and child.

- Ever heard of EM Forster? - Hm? Who's he play for?

He wrote A Room With A View.

I didn't realise looking out of one's window was a crime.

It isn't. But withholding evidence is.

I already told you, I didn't see anything.

The man who died had a wife and child.

They deserve to know the truth.

Nothing you say has to come back to you.

Does it?

No.

It was late, around midnight.

I didn't see any faces, all right?

I was working on my dissertation.

'But I looked out to see two men climbing the chapel.

Maniacs.'

But they stopped a while.

Talking, I think.

Then the next time I looked out...

He'd pushed him.

He must've been so scared.

Professor Raban?

Zakhodi.

A fascist and a papist, to what do we owe the pleasure?

- C of E, actually. - Please excuse Mr Crompton.

- He's going through a Marxist phase. - It's not a phase.

We're investigating the death of your colleague.

I hear it was an accident.

So everyone seems keen to stress.

Can you tell me where you were around midnight last night?

I was here with a student of mine, Kit Bartlett.

- Any witnesses? - I'm sure the porters can confirm that.

We were going through his dissertation

on the theme of duality in 19th century Russian Literature.

Really is rather fascinating.

Yes, sir. Mr Bartlett returned around half past ten,