Endeavour - The Origins of Inspector Morse

Good morning, everybody.

It's six o'clock on Sunday morning

and the BBC Light Programme is beginning another day's broadcast.

Fierce fighting between North and South Vietnamese troops in Phuoc Long Province...

Double?

I'd sooner cash, Emile.

But I suppose I can trust you.

Pint, Morse?

Morse.

Pint?

I don't drink.

You know that Have a squash.

Sally's serving. The one with the charlies. I'd like to, McLeash.

Really, but um...

On a Sunday?

All work, old son...

Well, it's good of you to ask, but another time.

That's what you said last time.

Lisa Bainwright? Yes, miss.

Jenny Crisp? Yes, miss.

Pauline Edmonds? Yes, miss.

Valerie Quillen? Yes, miss.

Anne Porter? Yes, miss.

Mary Tremlett?

Mary Tremlett?

Is Mary not in today?

Has anybody seen her?

Crisp's daughter goes here, I heard. I wouldn't know.

Any word on those extra bodies?

Request has gone in for reinforcements from Carshall. Due first thing tomorrow.

'Mary Tremlett aged 15, left home on Saturday

at approximately four o'clock in the afternoon

for a trip to the cinema.

Last seen wearing an orange top,

green three-quarter-length trousers in a fashionable

Capri pants style, she has not been seen since.

Anyone with information pertaining to her disappearance

should contact Detective Inspector Fred Thursday

at Cowley Police Station, Oxford.

It is believed extra officers from Carshall Newtown

are being drafted in to assist in the search.'

Well, that's us, that is.

'Ere, what's this I heard you tried to get yourself taken off the inquiry?

Morse?

Wilcox, Duffle, Ellis, Wood, you're assigned to Banbury.

DS McBain. He's waiting for you in the canteen.

Cullen, Boyle, Madden, Mitchell, Kidlington. DS Anthony.

Transport's through the yard.

Hurry it up.

Finger out of your arse.

You two, follow me.

I suppose you're feeling very pleased with yourselves.

Dreaming of cracking a great big juicy murder case, eh?

Get your name in the papers? Yes, sarge.

Well, you can forget it. There's only two

detectives in this nick: Me and the guv'nor.

And that's Mr Thursday to you. Or 'sir'.

Get in. Go on.

You're here to take up slack.

Any questions? No, good.

I thought this was a missing persons case.

You said murder.

Oh, it's murder all right. Sex case like as not.

The way they go round with all on show these days.

Just not found her body yet.

So, duties.

McLeash, office, duty log, telephone calls, any and all information received.

Sarge. E Morse.

Your guv'nor says you know the area.

College boy.

That right?

Right, door to door. Get that lot circulated.

You can't tell from those but she's a redhead,

well-developed for her age. Someone would have seen her.

Shops, offices, railways, commuters... Commuters?

If she left Oxford by train on Saturday afternoon,

it's unlikely she'd have been seen by the weekday crowd, wouldn't you think?

Well, I don't think. I follow orders.

Anyone want me, I'm with the guv'nor.

Kept that under your hat, didn't you?

Bloody Oxford.

His verse notwithstanding, Ibycus is perhaps most famous for the manner of his death

at the hands of robbers.

Wounded and dying, Ibycus looked up to see a flight of crane...

A flight of cranes passing overhead.

At which he cried out, 'Those birds will be my avengers.'

His murderers repaired to Corinth,

where, Plutarch tells us,

spying a flock of the same birds,

one of their number exclaimed in jest,

'Behold, the avengers of Ibycus.'

Bathroom's on the first landing for proper washing.

But you've a sink up here for shaving

and the necessary's where it should be.

First time in Oxford? Not exactly.

Well, that's nice, dear, isn't it?

This was Mr Bleaney's room.

He stayed here the whole time he was at the Bodleian.

Do you know how long you'll be in residence? I'm afraid not.

No, well, it's just yourself and two other gentlemen at the minute.

Mr Goldberg and Mr McCann.

Very nice, they are.

Tea's at 6:30 as a rule.

But I can do you a boiled egg.

Oh, that's very kind of you, Mrs Crabbin, but I'll get something out.

Then I'll let you get settled.

There's no overtime.

I realise that

So what is it, brown-nosing or sucker for punishment?

There's no other kind of bloody fool still in the office at this time of night.

Just us.

I thought I should take a look at the Tremlett case files.

Which one are you? Morse, sir.

Carshall Newtown.

So?

Mary Tremlett 15 years old,

Last seen by her parents Saturday four o'clock when she left,

supposedly to go to the pictures with another girl, Valerie.

- Valerie... - Quillen.

Who denies any such arrangement.

No boyfriend.

No troubles at home. So it's unlikely she's a runaway.

That's it.

Not much to go on.

There rarely is, this kind of case.

But we keep looking.

Good night, then.

There is one thing, sir.

Going through this list of her belongings at home...

She's a copy of The Oxford Book Of English Verse by her bed,

together with A Shropshire Lad and a Betjeman Collected.

Young girls like poetry.

Young girls like Mary Tremlett?

Too highbrow for a girl whose father works on the GMC assembly line? That your point?

No, my point is that they're hardbacks.

Beyond the pocket of a schoolgirl, I'd have thought.

Just struck me as odd, that's all.

Maybe they were a present. Her parents, a school prize even.

There's official lines of inquiry we're following, Morse.

Poetry books isn't one of them.

Is Mary fond of poetry, Mr Tremlett?

She's nice handwriting.

The teachers commended her on it.

A-plus last report.

Sharon, my eldest, she's visiting.

Police.

How do you do, Miss Tremlett?

Mrs. Veelie.

They had her read out some of her essays to the class.

The house isn't the same.

Find her, will you, please?

Find our Mary.

What is it you're looking for?

Oh, just filling in some of the background.

So you weren't here Saturday?

I dropped by the afternoon to see to Dad's tea but I went straight home after.

About five.

Where's home? Droitwich.

We had a stock-take Sunday, see.

Freeman, Hardy and Willis.

I'm Deputy Under-Manageress.

And your husband?

He's in carpets.

Travelling.

We're not together any more.

Are you close to your sister, Mrs Veelie?

Not really.

All this fuss...

It'll just be some stunt.

Attention seeking.

What makes you say that?

Cos she's always been the same.

When Mum was alive, she spoilt her rotten.

Dad too.

Whatever she wanted.

Their blue-eyed girl.

Silly little cow.

The police were here.

Nobody's seen her.

Do you think she knows something? How would she know?

Extension 255.

Yes, I'll hold.

Morning.

Aye aye.

What you got there, then? Mary Tremlett's poetry books.

Well, what's all that about? I don't know yet. Nothing, probably.

Where the bloody hell have you been?

Got a suicide in Thrupp. Unidentified male. You're on.

How am I meant to get there?

Want me to wipe your arse for you an' all?

Use your initiative.

Morning.

Not for this poor sod.

You are whom?

Morse. Detective Constable.

On attachment from Newtown.

You're the pathologist, I presume?

Better hope so, hadn't you?

Otherwise I'm making one hell of a mess of your scene of crime.

Max DeBryn.