Dalgliesh

All murders are the product of their age.

Of the particular social and historical circumstances

in which they were committed.

Here in our "Murder Room," as we try but fail not to call it,

you'll find the stories of the most notorious murders

committed in the years between the wars.

Now, our aim isn't to titillate.

Well, perhaps a little.

We're all human, aren't we?

No. We aim to give insights into the minds and hearts,

into social conditions and preoccupations

in those tense and turbulent years.

Ryan.

Come on. There's work to do.

We did?

We did indeed.

Well, that's terrific. Well done.

- Thanks. Speak tomorrow? - Sure. Thanks. Bye.

I hope you're listening, Pater.

Morning, girls.

There's no way I'm doing it, so sort it out yourself.

- Victoria. - She's totally incompetent.

If you wish to remain a pupil in this school,

you treat my staff with respect.

It depends what you mean by wish.

I don't know where you get your attitude from.

Though, actually, I probably do.

Well, we all inherit things from our families,

don't we, Miss Dupayne?

Get to your class.

The Blazing Car Murder... 1930.

Alfred Rouse, a commercial traveler

and compulsive womanizer...

It's hard to imagine the appeal...

Committed bigamy, needed to permanently disappear,

so decided to fake his own death.

He drove to a lonely road, picked up a tramp,

killed them, threw petrol over them,

set the car ablaze, and then made off.

Unfortunately for him,

two laborers happened to walk down the road,

and instead of hiding and letting them pass,

Rouse called out to them about the blaze.

Well, that encounter led to his arrest and subsequent execution.

Dr. Shard to Brunel ward, please.

Now, Rouse had suffered a head injury during the war.

His behavior at the scene and at the trial was markedly stupid.

So one might say that he was a casualty of World War I.

I promise I'll tell Dr. Dupayne.

- Thank you. - Take care, won't you?

Bye now.

Mrs. Shaw.

Her husband's been bad again this morning.

She says she's at the end of her tether.

Well, I just checked.

Not a single bed available in a dementia unit.

So she's on her own.

Probably until he's dead.

Or she is.

I'll go and see them this afternoon.

Tea and sympathy.

Big deal.

You know you've got that meeting at the museum.

Yes.

I know.

The Brighton Trunk Murder... 1934.

I dare say you've all heard of this one.

This is the actual trunk in which Tony Mancini,

a 26-year-old waiter,

stuffed the beaten body of his prostitute mistress, Violet Kay.

We rarely open the trunk.

Afternoon, Miss Dupayne.

The lining is fragile.

But yes, there are stains,

though not as many as one might imagine.

Ah, Dr. Dupayne.

- How are you? - Are they in there?

Yes. Yes. Waiting for you in the library.

What's this?

It's just my new sticker system.

Helps me keep track of who's paid.

Blue for the gentlemen, pink for the ladies.

Christ.

First thing... We've got the Paul Nash.

It's the one that Dad always wanted but lost out on twice.

That's great. Well done.

Thank you. I'm going to make it

the centerpiece of our spring exhibition.

Right. The new lease.

There's copies

in case you want to read it before we sign.

Can we stop this charade, please?

Neville, we've been through this

- I don't know how many times. - Please just sign it,

and then we can have a debate later.

The museum works for all of us.

Isn't going to happen. Not today or any day.

I want to open a clinic to treat...

A private clinic?

Isn't that against your principles, Chairman Mao?

To run alongside my NHS work.

Shut up, Caroline.

This place is worse than anachronistic.

- It's damaging. - Oh, here we go.

Part of the moribund obsession that this country has

with the bloody wars

instead of facing up to the mess we're in now.

You don't see what I see every day.

- Oh, we both work. - In ivory towers.

The museum's more relevant than ever.

Oh, give me a break.

Dad... That's what this is really about.

- What? - And all the imaginary wrongs

you think he did you.

Coffee?

Some of my homemade shortbread?

If you really think that, you're even more facile

than I thought.

Neville, please. Nev!

Ready to do the rounds, then?

Yes.

So how did it go?

Dreadful.

Better be quick, Ryan. You might get locked in.

See you tomorrow, ladies.

"Ladies."

Who does she think she is?

- Good night. - Good night, Muriel.

She said it was bad, the meeting.

I don't want you worrying about that.

Night.

What would you do?

If you couldn't live here anymore?

Well, I'd have to find somewhere else.

People always need housekeepers.

Now, better go and have my tea.

My evening class is 7:00.

You get on home, Ryan. See you tomorrow.

Oh, excuse me, Mrs. Clutton.

Did you see the sign?

Ohh.

Hello?

- Evening. - Night.

Oh! Aah!

Aah.

Are you all right?

Seems like someone's having a bonfire over there.

No.

Ohh.

No.

Help!

- Sir. - Tell me.

We got here 20 minutes ago.

Fire Investigation are still in there.

The car belonged to Dr. Neville Dupayne.

Uniform have tried contacting him.

So have the family. Nothing.

It's likely he's our deceased.

His brother and sister are in the museum.

Marcus and Caroline Dupayne.

They're next of kin.

The fire was discovered by the housekeeper,

Mrs. Tallulah Clutton.

She lives in the cottage down there.

She says she might have seen someone fleeing the scene.

And a Miss Muriel Godby's here.

She's a secretary-cum- receptionist.

It's a private museum, sir.

Dedicated to the inter-war years.

Yes. I came here once a long time ago

when I first joined the Met.

They had an exhibit about notorious murder cases.

Now they've got one of their own.

If it isn't suicide.

Take a couple of uniforms

and make a primary search of the grounds, please.

Yes, sir.

Chief Inspector Dalgliesh?

Douglas Anderson.

No doubt about the seat of the fire, sir.

Head and upper part of the body.

Windows will have cracked...

Inrush of air, outrush of fire.

Cause of fire... Almost certainly petrol.

- All right? - Fine.

Key's in the ignition. Seatbelt fastened.

Driver's door is ajar, as you can see.

Oh, and the light bulb is missing.

Accident, suicide, or murder?

It's not an accident, sir, and I don't think it's suicide.

In my experience, suicides who use petrol

don't haul away the can or the cap.

Nor do they fasten the seatbelt.

And then there's the missing bulb.

Yes. If a bulb fails,

you usually leave it in place until you come to change it.

Is this how the doors were left?

Yes. If the victim is planning

to drive the car out, he would have left the door wide open.

And if he was planning suicide,