Inspector Morse

Concerto No.1

Come in.

Sir?

Flu.

Sir?

Lewis was saying you had a touch of er...

flu.

Right.

When I was wondering where you were.

Right.

Not having a depression, are we?

No, we're not.

Every time I drive past your neck of the woods, there seems to be another new off-license.

And I think to myself, "Bees round the honey pot."

Good.

Know who this is?

- I don't want those. - It's the files on the Craven case.

And?

- And...so I thought you'd want them. - Well, I don't.

- Lewis. - Sir?

- When did she go missing? - About six months ago.

Yes, yes. The date?

I don't know exactly. I'd have to check in the file.

What's all this about flu, Lewis?

- I don't know, sir. I don't know, sir.

Anything else?

Yes. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Lewis, but she's dead.

How do you know?

They put me onto these things when they can smell a corpse.

One file? Anybody.

Two files? Ainley or McKay.

I'm the three-file man.

No, she's dead.

Pass it to me!

The cream of the country, eh? I wouldn’t know, sir.

Rich and thick.

That's a bit unfair, isn't it?

We wouldn't mind our Louise going to this school.

She's not rich or thick.

Have you ever thought about the person

who designed the sports skirt?

Somebody sat down and drew a fantasy and made it compulsory uniform.

I can never watch Wimbledon without thanking that man.

Shall we go in?

In a minute.

Towards the goal. Come on. A final effort!

Erm, can I help you?

Hello.

This is private property. Are you parents?

Er, I'm not. No. But Sergeant Lewis is.

I see. Do you have an appointment, Inspector Morse?

I'm assuming you're here about Valerie Craven.

That's why I'm here, yes,

but I think Sergeant Lewis would like some information about your fees.

An interesting girl. Bright. Quite bright.

Wild, but I liked her. I taught her English.

She left school on Thursday 24th March at about 4:30.

She's a day girl.

She waved goodbye to me, actually.

It's rather ironic.

She just walked off down the drive.

No-one's heard from her since.

Wild is not fair, really. Spirit.

I thought you people had given up.

Oh, no.

I expect you know her father through the Police Committee.

I've never met the man.

I am intimate with one of his cement mixers.

- I'm sorry? - There's a lot of building going on near me.

- Everywhere you look. - That's right.

- And very ugly. - That's right.

Sorry, Miss Baines.

- He's a powerful man. - That's why we're still trying to find his daughter.

Your ordinary missing person gets about a week.

What do you think has happened to her?

I've no idea. You should ask the Head. He knows the family very well.

George Craven is a school governor and so on.

Was she happy, would you say?

Yes, I should think so.

I mean, slice any teenager in half and there's a great deal of melancholy and angst and rage.

But I would have said she was happy. Yeah.

Excuse me.

Mrs Webb, erm...

ls the Head around? There are a couple of police officers who'd like a word with him.

It sounds familiar, sir.

What does?

Well, you know, melancholy and rage and so on.

What time is it?

Coming up to 2:40.

Hm.

My cousin is married to a woman who's 12 years younger than he is.

Which means when he was 20, she was eight.

Did they know each other when she was eight?

I don't know.

I'm sorry to keep you waiting. The Head's been delayed.

He was at a headmasters' conference in London over the weekend.

We'll make an appointment.

Time, please, ladies and gentlemen. Time, please. Thank you.

Two pints, please.

Sorry. I've called time.

- When? - Just now.

Oh, come on. Two pints.

Sorry.

- There are people still drinking. - Sir.

Thanks, sir. Otherwise I'd get shot.

I got you these. It was all they had.

- For me? - Yes, sir.

Undrinkable!

It's not real beer, you see. That's nothing to do with beer.

Take it home. Thanks all the same.

Right.

Where are we going?

To see the dad.

We've got specific instructions not to disturb the family.

That's right.

The thing with you is, if somebody tells you you can't do something, you go on and do it.

I make it a rule.

Other chap on leave, is he?

No. Fresh legs, I think, is the idea.

I can't say I liked him very much. Not much going on upstairs.

The man doesn't have to be stupid because he hasn't found your daughter.

You see, four months ago, this was pasture, where we're standing now.

You know, a bit of a farm.

And you go in and you get on with it. You make things happen.

You sweat.

- You get results. - Yes.

I dredged the canals myself.

My people.

But I was there, personally.

And the reservoir.

I didn't want somebody going on about the cost.

I put stuff in the newspaper and there's a reward.

I hope you've got a few half-decent ideas.

Not yet, no.

Morse?

Are you the drinker?

I don't know. Are you the tyrant?

See these shoes?

Horrible, aren't they? Full of muck.

I never buy good shoes, because I spend my life wading through muck.

My wife won't let me through the front door of the house.

That's all you need to know about me.

What do you think has happened to Valerie?

Kidnapped? Yet there was no phone call.

Temper? But you can't be angry for six months, can you?

So, I dredged the canal.

I walked the woods behind my house with a rake in my hand.

Has a temper, though, does she?

- Have you got any kids, Morse? - No.

No.

- Come towards me. - What?

Just come towards me.

Take my arm.

These are going to be compulsory at Homewood.

I've ordered 1,000 of them.

So, you've no idea why Valerie might have decided to leave home?

- A man? A quarrel? - Read the files, Inspector.

I'm not going to repeat myself. Get your feet dirty.

What was that noise?

I think that was a cry from the heart.

Bye-bye.

Goodbye, Miss Baines. - Bye. See you tomorrow.

Cheryl, I gather I missed a visit.

That's right.

- And? - Oh, I'm sure they'll be back.

Prod, prod. Poke, poke.

They wanted to know if Valerie had ever confided in me about anything,

- if there was something on her mind. - And you said?

Oh, nothing much.

Excuse me, Headmaster.

- Sir. - Yes?

Listen to this.

I'm fine. Don't worry. I'm very happy and this is the right thing for me.

I know you've been worrying and I want to tell you everything, but I can't.

But please don't worry about me. Love and hugs, Valerie.

- What's all that about? - The Cravens got this this morning.

Postmark?

London. SW3. Yesterday.

Hm.

Well, she's obviously alive and we can assume she's in London.

I took her diary home with me last night.

There's mention of a John Maguire, a boyfriend, who lives in the SW3 area.

I think she's there.

Good. That's all right, then.

It is. I think we should go and pay this Maguire a visit.

You go.

- Did anybody read this diary before you, Lewis? - Oh, yes, sir. Of course.

Chief Inspector Ainley interviewed the man on two separate occasions.

He kept her under the bed, then.

What's the matter?

Nothing. It's hot.

No. I mean, Valerie Craven. What's the matter?

Valerie Craven is dead.

Why do you want her to be dead?

And if she is dead, how can she write this letter and post it?

- ls there a date on that letter? - No.

Let me look at it.

How do we know this is Valerie Craven's handwriting?

Well, I'm having it checked, but it matches the writing in her diary to an untrained eye.

OK.