Jonathan Creek

My God, who did this thing?!

Mathilde, speak to me!

But how could he have escaped

through a locked door and a barred window?!

It's impossible!

So, how did that work for you, then, tactically?

You might know the man would try and bite you in the neck.

I might know he'd try and bite me in the neck? No!

Do we have to assume that everyone in the theatre's a vampire now, do we?

Hi, Polly and Jonathan Creek, MMP Marketing.

We're here to see Zelda Niedlespascher.

Sixty quid a throw, you expect a little decorum.

I'd hate to see where they try and bite you in the cheap seats.

Can't you ever turn a blind eye to these things?

It may not be our biggest account, but very high profile,

and it'll be great to get their creative input

on the rebranding strategy for next year.

Yeah, well, The Mystery of the Yellow Room?

I'm sorry, Gaston Leroux?

Only happens to be one of THE benchmark novels

of impossible crime fiction.

Whereas THAT was just two and a half hours of complete and utter tos...

Polly and Jonathan, hello!

- Hello! - Mon Dieu, quel dommage!

Mais, qu'est-ce qui s'est passe?

On va au theatre, c'est comme la Bataille de la Somme.

I know, I know, you don't have to say it.

My whole interpretation in the gondola scene,

it lacked phrasing, it lacked modulation, it lacked intensity.

It also lacked the gondola. Did you notice?

Three nights now, Zelda, we have to walk on water because the man in

the wings with his toy boats can't pull a screwdriver out of his arse!

What's going on? - Yes, yes, we fix in the morning, okay?

10:30, all the technicals.

And I cast these people!

A leading lady with no confidence, a leading man with no patience.

You want some true insights for your campaign?

You should come back tomorrow and witness the chaos.

Yes, well, tomorrow, sadly, we're out of town, aren't we?

Sunday lunch at Sharon's with their little eight-year-old?

Promised to go and say hello to the new pony.

Or had you forgotten?

No, no, no. I hadn't forgotten.

Hey, Angus.

You all right? - I've got some post for you.

Thank you. Night-night, sweetie.

Was it a late one?

Sorry.

How was your day?

You all right?

Stop it. Stop it!

Stop it, get off me! Get off!

What, what? For God's sake, what's wrong?

What's wrong is that I'm not here any more, am I?

It's just you and her! - You're wrong.

It's a sickness, Angus, what's going on with that woman in your head.

And I swear to God, you are going to have to deal with it,

because I'm sorry, I can't!

No, well, listen, it works for Roger.

I mean, an hour on the train each day, but what's that?

When you were born and brought up in the country, it's just...

Cos obviously we've only just started looking around, but no,

definitely feeling the time's right now to make the move.

Anyway, listen. It's meant the world to her today, you coming over.

Especially after that big upset this week,

which, I have to say, she's taken amazingly well.

Upset?

Yeah. Last Tuesday was awful.

Her imaginary friend died.

They were out together playing in the garden,

and this dragon came down and just completely burnt her alive,

there on the spot, with its fiery breath.

I mean, horrible, right?

All that oozing skin, and eyes melting in their sockets?

But listen, did I tell you?

Ridley's going to be joining us for dinner tonight.

Managed to sneak the weekend off from uni.

Cos you know he's been doing this module in advanced criminology?

I tell you, it's like this genius talent he's got for working things out

from the tiniest details and scraps of evidence.

Of course, that's his big dream, is a career in forensic detection,

so, obviously, you know, he's desperate to talk to your husband

about how to... - Yeah, Jonathan's not a detective.

No, no. But all those weird cases he's solved.

Yeah, are the very thing we're trying to put behind us, Sharon.

You know, it would be nice to live in the real world now if we can.

Ripley? What is it? What's happened!

He chopped the head off my pony!

Chopped the head off her pony?

What? What?

I was showing her some pictures I took of the two of them

and I said, "I'm sorry about that one."

"Looks like I've cut his head off."

How could you say such a thing!

Don't you even think before you speak?

She has a very vivid imagination.

So what does she think I am now, some sort of hit man for the Mafia?

She's only got to go in the stable, hasn't she?

See it's still standing there.

Why would she go in the stable now,

which she presumably thinks is swimming in horse's blood?

Ripley, it's okay, he's fine. He's fine, I promise!

Ripley and Ridley.

No prizes for guessing what her favourite film is.

Whoa, whoa, whoa!

My God! - For God's sake, Zelda!

It's all right, sweetheart, it's okay.

What did I say?

I said we'd not seen the last of that sweet and sour squid.

Just a touch of mal de mer, you'll be fine.

It's not that, Darryl.

It's me, I'm rubbish.

The things you read now.

Apparently, I'm just this third-rate maladroit soubrette.

Blond, bland and blind to her own inadequacies.

Critics! It's the public you should listen to.

That was the public. That was in the ladies toilet upstairs.

Written on the cistern, in lipstick.

Today's fan club, tomorrow's lynch mob. What are they like?

Here. - Thank you.

I tell you, there's some really frightening people out there.

OK, first positions then, everyone, let's start again!

Bye, Juno. - Bye.

You, Juno Pirelli?

I've got a present for you.

God, God, God, God! No, no, no, no!

No, no, no! No! No! No!

What have you done?!

Shit, shit! Jesus, what have you done?!

Get away from her! Get away! Open that door!

It's okay.

Smells great. Lovely.

Now, please, sugar, don't do that.

That's only on trees, remember?

Come away from there.

Epitaph, for her imaginary friend?

No, just likes carving her name.

Which is all very well, but...

Come on, Ripley, think it's way past your bedtime, so, off you go.

Here he is, the man of the moment!

How were the trains? You have a good journey?

Yeah, fine.

Ridley, this is Jonathan.

Hi, Jonathan, a real pleasure. - Me too.

Polly, hi. - Hello!

So, I see you're just back from Reykjavik, both of you?

Hope you had an enjoyable flight. - I beg your pardon?

Reykjavik? You never said!

You see? This is what he does.

How, I have absolutely no idea.

Come on, you make me sound like some kind of sorcerer!

When, as Jonathan knows,

there's no trick to the art of simple observation.

The abrasions round the side of your neck, quite recent,

quite deep, and quite nasty.

Something feral at work.

If not feral, then certainly not happy. A pet, perhaps?

Provoked or antagonised? Or traumatised?

In your bag, a diary entry, largely obscured, for yesterday.

A visit somewhere, to a cemetery? A monastery? A presbytery?

The name, Zelda, a touch too exotic. More plausibly feline.

A cattery, then, but boarding or collecting?

Allow room for Zelda. Where? In a car full of bags?

Returning from the airport, surely?

Why drop a cat off more than 24 hours before departure.

And a week or two in a kennel would explain the feisty behaviour.

The watch on your wrist, still set for a previous time zone,

is one hour behind, which leaves us only Iceland or north-west Africa.

Yet no discernible suntans and that faint reddening of the left eyelid.

What else but a biting Arctic wind?

So, you see.

Really very simple.

Anyway, if you'll excuse me a sec while I just, erm...

Should I tell him it needs a new battery?

God! My God, no!

Sharon? What is it?

You okay? What's happened?

It's my dad. He's dead.

What do you mean he's dead?

It just says, "I'm sorry to let you know,"

"he just peacefully slipped away, about half an hour ago."

God, God, God! - Sharon, I'm so sorry.

No!

You know what? This isn't my phone!

It must be your phone! Thank you, God!

Thank you so much!

Because I just naturally picked it up off there and...

What a relief! I mean, that really scared me to...

...death.

Yeah, so that's, erm...

You'll...

...probably want to...

It's okay. You're going to be okay.