'You join us here at The Barracks
'for this fifth-round FA Cup tie between minnows Cowley Town
'and local rivals Oxford Wanderers.
'The build-up around Cowley's home ground is already quite something,
'not at all the sort of crowd they're used to seeing
'at this end of the league.'
Hello, Alf. Who's your pal?
'One minute of injury time remaining
'and Oxford Wanderers are trailing the minnows Cowley Town
'by a goal to nil in this fifth-round cup tie.'
'a free kick just outside the penalty area.'
'Swift is lining up to take the kick.'
'Swift has snatched if not victory from the jaws of defeat,
then at least something that'll...'
This is a message from the Provisional IRA.
If Jack Swift plays in the game on Wednesday against Cowley,
he'll be shot.
'The nationwide postal strike enters its fourth week
'with no sign of movement on either side.
'D-Day, and we turn our old pennies...'
Traffic, I expect.
I'm sure he'll be here soon.
You have to understand, Master, that funding a department
with money from a company with blood on its hands is...
..with blood on its hands can no longer be tolerated.
Be wary of judging the past by modern morals, Mr Sarson,
lest your own enlightened virtues one day fall from fashion.
It's not about the past, Master.
- Good morning, Miss Widdowson. - Morning, Miss Newell.
You're in early.
But it's all right, I've got the kettle on.
Morse.
What's the, er...?
One dead and one injured.
The deceased is a Miss Margaret Widdowson.
22, from Headington.
Junior secretary in the Master's office.
She wouldn't have known anything about it. Small mercies.
And the, er, survivor?
A Miss Newell. Also secretarial.
And where was the bomb?
In the post, it looks like.
A parcel, I should imagine, by the size of the blast.
Forensics will identify the package, hopefully.
What's left of it.
But I expect it will be a very lengthy process.
Cause of death should speak for itself, in this instance,
But shall we say two o'clock?
Thanks, Doctor.
Oh, hello, Sergeant.
- Very nice to have you back. - Doctor.
So, what do we think?
Angry Brigade?
Word out of Barnet is they charged a bloke Saturday
with bombing the Employment Minister's place.
The Brigade would suggest that
more than one person's involved, wouldn't you think?
Didn't they put something in one of their communiques?
"We attack properties, not people."
Wouldn't be their style, I shouldn't have thought.
Well, whoever sent it and whatever it came in,
we can assume it was meant for the Master.
You've had no personal or professional disagreements with colleagues?
I had nothing to warrant such a terrible, wicked...
That poor, poor girl.
I noticed some placards concerning the Buchanan affair in the quad.
Feelings are still running high, I take it.
Just undergraduate misbehaviour.
- What's this? - Tobias Buchanan, sir.
He made a fortune in arms during the American Civil War
and later invested a science chair here.
Some say as a way to expiate his sins.
- So, the issue is? - The company that bears his name
also manufactures napalm and a defoliant called Agent Orange,
both of which have been used, to lethal effect, in Vietnam.
The more militantly minded might see it as just cause.
A bomb, though! What are you thinking, that it's Angry Brigade?
We're keeping an open mind.
But to be on the safe side,
we'd like to put a uniformed constable on the gate as a deterrent.
Well, if you think so.
Just for the time being.
Until we get to the bottom of things.
Post delivered during a postal strike.
It's unlikely, don't you think?
A lot of private firms have taken up the slack.
Well, I'll get on to anyone local,
see if they've made deliveries today.
- Strange can do that. - I'm quite capable.
I'm not saying you're not.
It's just there's something else Mr Bright wants you to look at.
Do you know much about football?
Yes, sir.
Understood.
Just a moment, sir.
Mr Bright said to let you know he's running late at Division.
But, er... Miss Frazil's here.
He, er, put her in your office.
- Miss Frazil. - Chief Inspector. Morse.
Bad moment?
It never rains.
Well, anything I can do to help the boys in blue.
But I've got to tell you, sitting on a scoop this big
goes against every instinct.
As you can see, we've kept it out of the paper for now.
But if the threat is on the level,
and God forbid they make good on it,
then it's gonna be all over the front page, let alone the back.
- Why, what's this? - There was an anonymous phone call
to the Oxford Mail on Saturday evening, was it?
Man's voice. Irish.
Said, "This is a message from the Provisional IRA.
"If Jack Swift plays in the game on Wednesday against Cowley,
"he'll be shot."
Old or young, from the voice?
Somewhere between 18 and 80.
Ulster accent, like Paisley.
Have you found out where the call was made?
It was a public phone in the foyer of the Plaza Hotel.
Well, that could just be a crank, then, couldn't it?
Someone who doesn't want Swift playing against, er...
Cowley Town, cup tie replay.
The Plaza Hotel's a stone's throw from Cowley's ground.
It could've been someone on the way back from the match.
There was an issue when he first joined the club, wasn't there?
Hate mail, death threats.
Well, we certainly got letters saying people like Swift
shouldn't be playing for an English club.
People like Swift? Why, don't Irish footballers...
play for English sides? Sorry, I don't know much about the game.
There are many Northern Irish players in the English league.
But as one correspondent put it,
"None with the touch of the tar brush".
It's a race issue, then.
When he first started, maybe.
But Swift's long since proved himself to the fans.
I mean, he won them promotion from the Second Division
- more or less single-handed. - Could there be any connection
with the threat against Swift and this bomb at Lonsdale?
The Irish, on this side of the water?
I don't think they'd make a play as bold as that, Miss Frazil.
Well, what's threatening the life of a leading footballer?
Seems pretty bold to me, Chief Inspector.
Well, that's assuming that the threat is genuine.
Aren't you?
Well, I think that's rather the conundrum, don't you?
Jack Swift is to have round-the-clock local protection
until the match is over. Division's order.
Football's hardly my area of expertise, sir.
I've very little interest in the game.
Which is exactly why you've been chosen.
The last thing we need is someone with stars in their eyes
who's going to be overwhelmed by the whole soccer razzamatazz.
Better by far to have someone in place
who's going to keep their eye on the ball.
As it were.
You're all right, are you?
Well, it's a case of having to be, isn't it?
I just think my time will be better spent on the bomb,
rather than playing wet nurse to some overpaid football star.
- "Our is not to reason why." - And look how that turned out.
If it's a real threat...
But that's the point, isn't it? "If".
I just don't want to be on a dead-end assignment
when I could be helping you find
which lunatic blew up my old college.
But Division knows best.
Right, simple passing drill, boys. Give and go.
Don't let Jack do all the work, come on!
Hey, work harder than that.
Last one.
'Ah, come on.'
We're not taking any notice of that, are we?
It's just some wee buck eejit trying to put me off my game, is all.
Well, I'm sure there's nothing to it, Mr Swift.
But I am under strict instructions to make sure that it stays that way.
How's that? Kind of like a bodyguard, do you mean?
Well, something like that. Either myself
or one of my colleagues will be with you at all times.
- Do I have a say? - No. You don't.
It's come down from Mr Fenner himself.
He's not taking a gamble with his star striker, is he, Jack?
- Well, I'm just about to see him. - What's that?
I've a fitting for some clobber for this fashion thing tonight.
I'll talk to him, Dan. I'm not afraid of these people.
Nobody's thinking that.
Not for a minute. We just...
want to be sensible, that's all.
Is there no way that Mr Swift can just miss the match?
It's a cup tie.
Do you know what that means for the club financially?
Besides, if I don't play this game, what about the next?
When does it stop?
Your son's posted there, isn't he?
Northern Ireland? Yes, sir. Yes, he is.
Getting on all right?
Hard to tell with, Sam, sir.
He writes home to his mother once a week. But, er...
with the postal strike.
And Morse... how's he these days?
Morse is Morse, sir.
You know more than anyone what last year took out of a soul.
He walks a step slower maybe.
Lost some of his bounce, you mean?
A bit less full of himself. A bit less cocksure.
That's not always a bad thing.
A bit of uncertainty, a bit of doubt makes a man
more careful in his work. More thorough.
Perhaps time does that to all of us, sooner or later.
There are some blows from which one never quite recovers.
Not fully, at least.
One thing's for sure.
He's no more the kid that got off the coach from Carshall New Town.
So, you've not noticed anything out of the ordinary?
- Nobody following you. - Outside of the press?
No.
I mean, nothing like that.
- Like what, then? - Look, it's daft.
Last week, Thursday or Friday maybe,
I was in a taxi coming through town,
and I thought I saw someone I knew.
- From home. - Who?
A fella I used to play football with when we were kids.
George Sellars.
He married our neighbour's girl.
Only, I was caught in the one-way, right,
and I had the driver go around, but by the time we'd got back,
there was no sign.
But do you think it was him?
Aye, he had the look of George, sure.
But I can't think he'd be in town and not call.
It's probably my mistake.
But you said anything out of the ordinary.
I just had a chat with the Forensics boys.
They think the bomb was inside a plain cardboard box
wrapped in brown paper and string on a timer.
No distinguishing features.
Well, that narrows it down a bit.
I've spoken to all the major private services delivering mail in Oxford.
From Friday until today
none of them had any parcels like that for the college.
The bomber must have dropped it off himself, then.
Anything from intelligence on the usual two-bob radicals?
This is Oxford.
Roll a ball down Carfax, you'll hit half-a-dozen agitators.
Ban the bomb. Make love, not war.
AmnOx. Vegetarians.
They might make a noise,
but I can't see any of that lot blowing people up.
- Back to the Angry Brigade, then? - Else it's something personal.
Come on, get your coat.
Cecily, get Solly to cut a new pattern for a different model.
I just found out Suki's in the pudding club.
Marta, darling, you make sure you put a bit more into it tonight.
This isn't any old schmutter,
this is the Robert Fenner Spring Collection. That's it!
Jackie!
Take five, girls. Take five.
Jackie, darling, all right?
- Who's your friend? - Police.
Oh. Er, Robert Fenner. Fenner Fashions.
Couturier to the stars and them that'd like to be.
I also happen to be Chairman of Oxford Wanderers.
So I understand.
Mr Swift tells me he is to attend some, er...
fashion show tonight.
Tonight's the launch of Fenner Fashions.
Very important Jackie's here.
More important he doesn't get killed, don't you think?
Now, I'll need a list of all that are attending.
Nobody's going to do anything to him in public, are they?
My good lady wife.
Nothing's going to happen to him with you here, is it?
Tell you what, Cecily,
why don't you take Jackie to try his outfit for tonight on?
- Any alterations, Solly can take care of. - Of course.
If you'd like to come this way, Jackie.
Let's take a look at that famous inside leg, shall we?
Aye, but I can't be too long about it.
Ray wants me back at the ground for a photoshoot.
I had a doctor's appointment at 4:30 on Friday,
so I came in a little earlier this morning to make up the time.
Maggie was already in. She had the kettle on.
Morning, Miss Newell. You're in early.
I noticed she had a parcel wrapped in brown paper.
Did you see who it was addressed to?
I noticed it was for the Master.
Only, they'd written Stanfield,
rather than Stamfield.
'Stanfield? With an N?'
'Yes. GW Stanfield.'
I turned away to do something and there was a bright light.
That's all I remember.
Was everything well between you?
Oh, yes.
We got on like a house on fire.
How about Professor Stamfield, with his colleagues and so forth?
No fall-outs there or...?
He had words with Maggie about her timekeeping.
Sometimes she'd only put her nose around the door
at a quarter or 20 past nine.
It seems silly now...
..the things we fret over.
Something like this happens and...
..you wonder why you worry.
Miss Widdowson has a sister, a Mrs Frida O'Rourke.
I wonder if she knows something.
See if you can run her down, find out what's what.
- And meet me back at the ranch. - Sir.
Despite playing for opposing teams,
both Jack Swift and John-Paul Martinelli
are delighted to be associated with the launch of...
the Striker from Grenville Cycles.
So, any questions?
Yes, I've a question for Mr Martinelli.
How does it feel to be described as "the next Jack Swift"?
Oh, there's only one Jack Swift.
He's been my hero since I was at school.
And now you're up against him on Wednesday.
Any predictions?
Wanderers will have the home advantage here at The Field.
But Cowley's ready to give it all we've got.
You know, that's the magic of a cup tie.
Anything can happen.
All right, folks.
The boys have got to get back to their training, so...
Well, thank you very much.
Come on, then, lads.
You drew the short straw, then.
So, what's the plan with Swift?
Well, keep him alive, I suppose. If the threat's genuine.
Are you all right? You look a bit peaky.
- Oh, I'm fine. - Sure?
Yeah.
Do you know him, Swift?
Yeah, I've interviewed him once or twice. He seems nice enough.
Which isn't something you can say for Ray Jubba, their agent.
Their agent?
Yeah, Swift and John-Paul Martinelli.
Ray Jubba manages them both.
- But they play for different sides. - Not for much longer.
Word is, Martinelli's looking to transfer from Cowley,
and Wanderers are interested.
"The next Jack Swift"?
But the Wanderers have already got a Jack Swift.
Why do they need another?
"And slowly answered Arthur from the barge,
"'The old order changeth, yielding place to new.'"
Every god has his day, Morse.
I'd better go.
Don't you think you should tell him?
I thought he might take it better coming from you.
You're the manager, Dan. I'm just his agent.
It's what they pay you for.
Just let him get the game tomorrow night out of the way.
And you're keeping in touch with your family back home now.
Cos... that's important when you're over here.
Oh, sure.
Duke Ward said to send his best, by the way.
- When did you see Duke? - I didn't.
I spoke to him.
You know, on the phone.
Ok.
Well...
if you've any problems, you just let me know.
- All right? - Sure thing.
I'll see you tonight.
I mean, tomorrow at the game.
Here, you couldn't get me that Cheryl's number, could you?
Fancy her, do you?
I can introduce you.
But some things a man's got to do himself, 'ey?
It's OK. This is Jim. He's a policeman.
Aye-aye, Joanie.
Back on the horse, then?
- Dad said you had a time of it. - Oh, did he?
What's the story here?
Just something I got involved with through Welfare.
I'm looking for Frida O'Rourke.
Uniform thought she might've come here.
- Is she one of yours? - What's it about?
A family matter.
Her sister's been killed.
- Maggie? - You know her?
Yeah, I know her.
She visited Frida a couple of times.
What happened, an accident, or...?
Not exactly.
Oi! Hope you're looking after my boy.
He means a lot to me. I'd hate to see anything happen.
- You manage them both, I understand. - Their commercial interests, that's right,
endorsements, personal appearances, that sort of thing.
- Is it lucrative? - Put it this way...
..when Jack lent his name to a range of signature boots,
they sold more than half a million in the first season alone.
59 and 11 a pair for the boys.
149 shillings for men's.
Decent screw in any money, old or new.
Joan said she'd been by to see you.
Last week.
She just came by to drop some bits off for the kiddies.
When I left their dad, I had to go quick,
and their toys got left behind.
How was she?
Did she seem all right? Nothing bothering her? No troubles?
I was going to be maid of honour and she...
- I'm sorry. - It's OK. You're all right.
Poor Maggie!
I don't suppose you can get me out
of this thing tonight with Fenner, can you?
Sorry, Jackie, no can do.
It's, you know, all set up and we've got the papers there.
Sure, Ray. Sure.
Right, can you, er, just look after him?
I've got to make a phone call.
He's all right, really.
- He's got my best interests at heart. - Fashion shows?
Photoshoots? Endorsements?
It's a wonder you get time to play any football at all.
Who's that?
No idea.
He's not ground staff.
Press maybe?
If her old man shows up, you know where I am.
And if anything ever comes to her her sister might've said.
Of course.
Well, then.
Mind how you go.
Oh, here...
I've got a do coming up.
A ladies' do, in the spring.
A charity evening. Dinner dance.
I was wondering...
..I don't suppose it'd be up your street?
- Somebody let you down? - No. No, no, no, nothing like that.
You're the first person I've asked.
- I'll believe you. - No, honest.
We're expected to bring someone.
"James Strange and guest."
What about your girlfriend?
I'm between at the minute.
You'd be doing me a favour.
And it's all for a good cause.
- What time? - Seven for drinks and canopies.
Sit down's at eight. Pick you up and drop you back, of course.
Nice, private hire car. Home by midnight.
Before I turn into a pumpkin?
All right, go on, then.
Really?
Oh, right.
I'll phone you through with the date. It's not until May, but...
Ta.
'Everyone thought the mini-skirt really couldn't go any higher.
'But maybe it could.
'Because it seems the thigh's the limit for lovely Louise,
'as she models a pair of the hottest of hot pants in striped satin.
'These are guaranteed to turn the most everyday behind
'into a delectable derriere.
Would you keep an eye on him for two minutes
while I go see where my support is?
Yeah, on him.
I've got everything in place.
Don't worry. I'll get him at the end of the show.
Well, I've a list of guests from the hotel,
but no names stick out as Irish.
'Did they say Swift's name?'
No, "I'll get him at the end of the show."
Who else could they be talking about?
'They don't even know if he's gonna play in the match.
'Sure you haven't got your wires crossed?'
Saturday's warning call came from the Plaza Hotel, didn't it?
So, they're here. I know they are.
'All right, stand to.'
Thank you! Thank you!
Thank you for attending Fenner Fashion's Spring Collection,
sponsored by Tressell's Building Contractors.
Now, if I could just ask our style ambassador, Jack Swift,
Mr Goldenboots himself,
up on to the stage for a few photos.
Come on, Jackie, don't be shy.
Here we go.
That's it, ladies. Come on, get a slice.
That's right. Straight down there.
There we go.
That's right.
Now!
Thank you.
Hello. How are you?
Jack, sorry to interrupt such a great show,
but we have another show for you as well.
Because tonight, Jack Swift, Oxford Wanderers
and Northern Ireland international football striker,
this is your life!
So, Jack, this is your life.
- Eamonn Andrews! - Well, I don't really watch television.
But you must have heard of him! Well...
No harm done. Better safe than sorry.
Though, I expect you'll get it from uniform
when you get back to the nick.
- Aye-aye. - What's the latest on the bombing at Lonsdale?
Outside of the Angry Brigade, we're coming up short
on whether anybody has much against Stamfield or the college.
- Well, what about the victim? - Blameless.
She has a sister whose husband knocks her about a bit.
But other than that, the family seems decent.
Her fiance's broken-hearted over it.
'..has a special message for you now.'
- Hello, Jack. - Sarah.
I remember when you were practising your football
and you looked up and saw me and gave me that cheeky grin.
But even with all the good luck you've had,
you're still the same...
- And her colleague? - Miss Newell didn't have much to say.
Stamfield had had a bit of a go at the girl over her timekeeping.
But otherwise, all was hunky-dory.
So, have a wonderful night with your family and friends.
And I hope to see you soon.
And she'll be seeing you sooner than you both thought.
You last saw her eight years ago
when you were her husband's best man.
But she's here tonight. Sarah Coyle then.
Now, Sarah Sellars!
Yes, as Sarah said,
you were never that keen on school work.
And as our next witness will testify,
your eagerness to play football often got you into trouble.
It was only a kick-about after school.
But when he got home, Jack was really in hot water.
Yes, you've not seen him for a while, your school pal
and fellow footballing hopeful from Londonderry,
you were best man at his wedding, George Sellars!
So, tell us, George,
what sort of trouble did Jack used to get in?
Well, down the rec, we didn't have a proper goal,
so we'd use our jumpers to mark the posts, like.
This one game, he gets his jumper absolutely wrecked.
He knew he'd catch it off his mam, so he borrowed mine.
- Did the deception work, Mrs Swift? - No, Eamonn, it didn't!
It wasn't Jackie's name tag
that was sewn into the collar of his sweater,
it was George's, so I knew they'd been out and up to no good.
I said to him, "You'll get a clatter off your daddy when he gets home!"
Rest his soul.
Thank you, George Sellars!
And before long, your name reached the ears
of someone who was to change the course of your life.
A docker friend of your late father who, in his spare time,
acted as part-time coach and talent scout
for football clubs here in England.
- Duke Ward. - Yes.
That's right, it's the man who spotted all that young potential,
a legendary football scout in Northern Ireland, Marmaduke Ward!
Good to see you, Jackie.
Duke, tell me, what was your reaction when you first saw Jack?
Well, Eamonn, to tell you the truth, it was terrible.
Five feet, four, and less meat on him than a whippet.
But I knew, the moment I saw this fella,
that he could be something very, very special
if he put the hard work in
and had somebody to take him in hand.
We got him up to the mark,
and then I had no hesitation in recommending him to the Wanderers.
And I think you'll agree, he hasn't done too bad so far.
Indeed, he hasn't.
Thank you, Duke Ward.
Now, to close tonight, we have someone else
who's here to pay tribute to you.
A young man to whom you were a schoolboy hero,
and who may himself be facing the kind of adulation
you've gotten used to.
That's right, Eamonn. But there's only one Jack Swift.
Yes, that's right. It's the young striker
who's being hailed as "the next Jack Swift".
Cowley Town centre-forward
and Northern Ireland international, John-Paul Martinelli!
I saw him this morning and he never let on.
So, John-Paul, what is it you'd like to say to Jack?
Jack, you've been a hero, not just to me,
but to thousands of other schoolboys.
And I know everyone back home
and here in the UK is just so proud of you,
and what you've achieved in your career.
Well, hopefully, it's not over yet!
Indeed not.
But for now, at least, Jack Swift, this is your life.
My playing days are mostly behind me.
Oh, look, here he is. It's Duke.
The unluckiest man in showbusiness.
Now, what was it you made for discovering Jack?
15 quid finder's fee, wasn't it?
On top of the £2.10 a week retainer, of course. No.
No, you should come and work for me.
Well, for some of us, it's not about the money.
But then, I wouldn't expect a man like you to know anything about that.
- What man like me? - A parasite.
Where were you on the freezing, cold winter mornings
I had him out training?
Nowhere. That's where you were.
And yet, you've bled Jack near enough dry.
And now you've got your claws into John-Paul.
So, you're all set to ruin him, too.
You're a grasper.
You make me sick to my stomach.
All that stamina.
I think that when you come and play for the Wanderers
that we're going to be very good friends.
Oh, it's you.
Be a darling and go and fetch me a little drinkie.
I'm a detective sergeant at Thames Valley, Mrs Fenner.
I'm not a wine waiter.
I'm sure your husband can freshen your glass.
Er, vodka martini, wasn't it, Mrs Fenner?
Cecily. Please.
No mistaking you for Cupid, is there?
- Sweetheart... - You might have mentioned this.
Oh, well, we were all sworn to secrecy, weren't we?
But you knew it was gonna happen
when there was a threat against his life.
Er, what can I say?
I don't know what this threat business is about any more than you do.
I'm grateful you're looking out for him.
But by this time tomorrow, it'll all be over.
Well, no, the threat was if he played.
He hasn't played yet.
Mr Lofthouse...
The Doncaster Dynamo.
I saw you play against Millwall in, er, '54, was it? A cup tie.
I used to take my boy Sam there when he was smaller.
Before we moved to Oxford, of course.
Come on, let's split.
But what about your family? It's...
It's your party.
They're not here for me.
Right, OK.
Hey, Jack, can I get you a drink?
Not right at the minute, Georgie.
Are you sure? Cos I know Sarah'd love to catch up.
She must've just nipped out to powder her nose.
She'll be back in a minute, I'm sure.
I can't have a late night, George.
I've got a match tomorrow.
- Are you staying on for it? - Yeah, of course.
We're all put up at the Plaza.
Your mum and sisters and everyone.
Great.
Great, we'll do something after, then. OK?
Home!
You're late, Dad!
Work went on.
You missed Sam on the telephone.
I gave him your best.
All right over there, is it...
..with the locals?
Behaving themselves?
He didn't say.
I asked if he was looking after himself. He said he was.
- I'll put the kettle on. - Nothing for me this late.
Fair dos. Here...
you'll never guess who I met tonight.
Who? Someone we know?
Eamonn Andrews.
Eamonn Andrews?
Fancy!
What's he like?
Very nice.
But not as tall as he looks on the telly.
Sorry to drag you away.
I just had to get out.
You know, get away.
Sometimes, it takes me like that.
- I get tired of it. - Of what?
Being Jack Swift.
What, the adulation, women, money?
- My commiserations! - Aye.
It looks great from the outside.
But everyone wants something.
A signed photo. A cut of your wages.
To be your friend.
To take them to bed so they can run to the papers about it.
And what do you want?
The love of a good woman.
I had one, too.
And I let her go.
It was put to me I had to choose.
It was her...
..or success at the football.
There's not a day goes by...
And now they want to kill me for it.
Have you got a girl?
Er, no. No, not at the moment.
I could get some company over. Make a call.
Well, erm, I mean, I'm on duty.
And, er...
And you've got a big game tomorrow.
You should probably get some rest.
- To those about to die. - Well, hopefully not!
No, no, I'll, er...
I'll just stick to the crossword.
Yeah.
Get your clothes on and get out, you little bitch!
How dare you! I'll kill you!
You said it was over! You walked out! You left!
I thought you'd come after me.
Instead, I spend three weeks
bored out of my mind at the George V.
Which you're paying for!
I'm paying for?
And now I come back to find the place
filled with your stupid, bloody tarts!
Don't walk away from me!
- Yes? - Morse. I'm your relief.
Bill Shaw, Special Branch.
You'd better get home, get some kip. You must be beat.
Is, er...?
Is that his piece, is it, the blondie one?
- Yeah, apparently. - Nice work if you can get it.
And if anyone can get it, he can.
You won't have seen the paper. It's all over.
If there was no real threat to him before,
a headline like that will drag every lunatic out of the woodwork.
And take your bloody rubbish with you!
Let the girl get her knickers on.
Jesus...
- Sorry, love. - First time for everything, hey?
Detective Sergeant Bill Shaw, Special Branch.
He'll be looking after you this afternoon.
I'll be back this evening.
"The love of a good woman..." When did she arrive?
First thing.
I did get an early night, like you said, but...
breakfast of champions.
I have already addressed the concerns
of John Sarson with him directly.
And as far as the college is concerned...
..no further action need be taken.
My apologies.
I'm afraid, if I don't follow my train of thought to its terminus,
I find it difficult to pick up the thread.
What can I do for you?
We've spoken to Miss Newell at the hospital yesterday.
She's recovering, I trust?
Seems to be.
She says you and Miss Widdowson had words about her timekeeping.
I had to take her to task.
But it wasn't about her timekeeping.
Rather, her poor and haphazard filing.
To be honest, her spelling was not all one might wish.
But, really, that was nothing.
Not nothing to the girl.
She was in tears, apparently.
I perfectly accept I can be a little brusque.
But, truly, I'm not in the habit of reducing my staff to tears.
Whatever upset her that afternoon...
..it wasn't me.
Aye-aye, matey.
- What's the latest? - We had another go at the Master.
And another word with his colleagues
to see if anyone might want to blow him to kingdom come.
Not an enemy in the world, apparently.
The Master of an Oxford college without an enemy?
That would be a miracle.
- And what about the bomb? - Regular cardboard box.
Wrapped in brown paper.
Tied with string.
Handwritten address.
Well, what's left of it. Meant for Stamfield.
Looks to have been a time bomb, according to the Forensics boys.
Dynamite wired up to an alarm clock.
Simple, but effective.
And is that consistent with the Angry Brigade's other devices?
I've put a request in to the Yard for furthers and betters,
but things are moving fast since the Barnet arrest on Saturday
and they're playing their cards close.
What do you make to that?
The bomb lads couldn't say.
Most likely it happened in the explosion.
Residue traces of wax, clay and some sort of colourant.
You're cutting it fine, aren't you? What time's kick-off?
Oh, not till 7:30, but I'm relieving the Branch man at 6:00.
Right.
Well, see you there, then.
Oh, there you are! Where the bloody hell have you been?
- Oh, sorry, we got caught in the crowd. - Yeah?
Never mind the Micks taking a crack at him.
I'll give him the full treatment if he's late for the team talk again.
Ball in the back of the net, isn't it, boss? Same as last week.
I'll be grand from here.
Morse, I hear you, er...
enjoyed a night with the stars.
This Is Your Life, wasn't it?
DCI Thursday said he's very nice.
Eamonn Andrews.
Though less tall than he appears on the television.
Oh, well, I couldn't say, sir.
Well, your charge should be in safe hands.
Division have permitted an additional 200 officers,
besides those who normally cover such a game.
'A very warm welcome to you on this chilly February evening.
'If you're just joining us, we're here at The Field,
'Oxford Wanderers' home ground,
'for this fifth-round cup tie reply against neighbours Cowley Town.
'It promises to be a thriller.'
'With a strike by Jack Swift,
'Oxford Wanderers came from a goal behind.'
Ah, good evening.
'Can he work his particular brand of magic again tonight?
'Cowley Town, despite the presence
'of the fabulous young striker John-Paul Martinelli,
'are very much the underdogs.'
Come on, ref!
'Swift's tackle was not as clean as it might have been.'
'And we're deep into injury time in this second half.
'According to my watch, there is less than one minute left to play.
'Swift steps up to take the most important free kick of his career.
'This must surely be the last kick of the match.'
'And Oxford Wanderers are through to the sixth round of the FA Cup.
'And some supporters are on the pitch now.
- 'We are witnessing scenes here...' - Bright to all units.
Protect the target. All eyes on Swift.
- Have you seen Swift? - Dressing room, I think.
We need him out of there. Get him out of there!
- You're sure he got off the pitch? - He was ahead of me.
He'll be in the bath by now if you want to scrub his back.
Look, I'll keep an eye on him
and bring him up to the clubroom after, yeah?
All right.
Well done, lads!
The club moved to The Field here at Potter's Lane in 1897.
It'd been church land up until the Reformation.
Then, after that, one of the colleges here
got ahold of it and they leased it back to the town
as somewhere to bury their paupers.
So, from Potter's Field to The Field, Potter's Lane.
I told you, we had nothing to worry about.
I thought he'd have been here by now.
Oh, they'll be having a few drinks, a few laughs.
Getting warm in the bath.
Just young men enjoying a bit of male camaraderie.
Taking bets as to which one of these lovely, young ladies
is going to be a notch on their bedpost by morning.
I'm guessing you weren't the sporty type.
More of a bookworm. Am I right?
Are you in need of a refill there, Graham?
This is my very dear friend Mr Tressell.
This is Jackie's bodyguard, Morse.
Oh, you sponsored the fashion show last night.
Sorry, Robert.
Erm, Graham, may I introduce you to our Lady Mayoress?
Of course.
The warp and weft of civic life.
Commerce, too, I should think.
An evening at the football as guest of the club chairman,
it must be an atmosphere convivial for business.
Oh, well, what can I tell you? It's good to be king.
Are you looking for Jackie, Mr Ward?
I'd leave him be a wee while.
It's not a good time, I don't reckon.
Come on, Jack'll see us in the bar.
Where's Jack? I thought you said you were going to bring him up.
- I thought he'd come ahead. - No.
- What is it? - He's...
Oh, my God!
Why weren't you watching him?
Dead less than two hours.
I don't want to jump the gun ahead of the post-mortem,
but death would appear to be by drowning.
However, there is also a sizeable wound to the back of cranium.
Could it have been accidental, Doctor?
He's slipped, fallen, hit his head perhaps?
It's possible.
But more likely the blow knocked him unconscious
and he pitched forward into the water.
- A blow from what? - I recovered that from the bath.
Forensics haven't had a go at it yet,
but it's the right size and weight to fit the bill.
Number 10. That's Swift's jersey, isn't it?
His girlfriend thought it was Swift, sir.
Easy mistake to make, I suppose,
if you're face-down in the water.
Then, whoever did this,
and presumably we advance from a position of suspecting foul play,
must have made the same error.
Hell of a thing to get wrong.
Well, a room full of steam.
If they came upon him from behind,
one could see how such a mistake might be made.
The threat was that Swift would be shot, wasn't it, sir?
Uniform searched everyone coming into the ground for concealed weapons.
Perhaps he had to improvise with whatever was to hand.
Of all things, what was Martinelli doing wearing another man's jersey?
It's not unknown for players to swap shirts, sir,
as a souvenir of their encounter.
A mark of respect, sort of thing.
A fan, perhaps, angry about the result.
According to uniform and the ground staff,
none of the punters managed to get down here.
The tunnel gate was locked
once all the players and officials were safely off the pitch.
Then whoever did for him was already inside the stadium.
What about his team-mates, where are they?
The manager and most of the rest have gone their own way.
Those that stuck around for the booze-up are still in the directors' box.
Easy for anyone to slip out for five minutes.
And Swift, what does he say about all this?
We haven't managed to speak to him yet, sir.
I'd have thought he'd be first on your list.
He doesn't appear to be in the building, sir.
So, we have one dead footballer...
and one whose life has been threatened now missing!
What do you think, Thursday? Could Swift have done this?
He had a pretty nasty set-to with Martinelli on the pitch.
If they swapped shirts, though, sir,
it suggests any differences have been forgotten.
Very well, I'll make my report to Division.
You can brief me on any developments in the morning.
Carry on.
Make a start with statements
and particulars from all interested parties, Jim.
Set aside any without an alibi since the end of the match.
Sir.
When Jack didn't come back with the rest of the boys to the party,
I came down here to look for him.
And you didn't see anyone else down there,
didn't pass anyone on the stairs?
No.
I just saw him lying there in the water and thought...
You thought that it was Jack.
If somebody wanted to kill Martinelli,
there's plenty of other places to do it.
Why here? Why now?
Well, perhaps it wasn't planned.
Maybe it was a spur of the moment.
Martinelli was wearing Jack Swift's jersey, yes.
But only someone who'd never seen Jack before
- could mistake the one for the other. - Even from behind?
Well, I think, if I were an assassin,
I'd want to be pretty sure of my target. Wouldn't you?
I just can't believe it.
That lovely, young boy.
I was only talking to him after Jack's This Is Your Life.
You've been here in this clubroom all evening, have you?
- Yes. So has Robert. Haven't you? - What's this?
You haven't left the clubroom or the box tonight.
Well, I did have to wash my hands.
But I bumped into Ray, Mr Jubba, in the gents.
He was attending to his hair. We got talking.
Made our way back here.
So you've been with somebody all evening.
That's right. And even if I hadn't been, I'm in the rag trade.
I'm not given to going round murdering young footballers.
Especially ones I'm about to sign.
I'd just come down to tell Jackie well done on the win, you know.
But he was having a bit of a row with his man Jubba, so...
I just went back to the do.
George Sellars will tell you. He came back up with me.
You saw Jack Swift?
Well, he had his back to me,
but I recognised his shirt, you know.
That wasn't Jack. That was John-Paul Martinelli.
What are you saying?
Is it John-Paul something's happened to and not Jack?
Oh, God, no!
Say that's not true. I don't believe you.
All that talent.
All that skill.
He could've been ten times the player Jack is.
What a waste!
I came down to say well done to Jackie.
Only, I could see he was having a set-to
with the bloke that handles his business.
So, me and Duke just came back up again.
Except what you're saying now...
it wasn't Jack?
No, that's right.
So, you came straight back up here after?
Aye. Well, Duke...
Mr Ward stopped off at the gents for a Jimmy.
I had Jack's mum and that to see to, so I just left him to it.
It was you, you bastard!
What did you do to him? That wee boy!
What do you mean, what have I done? I haven't done anything.
I saw you with him!
I thought it was Jackie you were talking to.
But it was John-Paul.
Would he not go along with your wee scheme, is that it?
All right now, Duke, that's enough.
- What scheme would that be? - Well, he knows!
They're all in on it. I'll kill you, you rotten...!
- Get him out! Get him out! - I'll bloody kill you!!
All right, I'm sorry, I just saw red.
All right, what was that all about?
John-Paul phoned me up before the match.
- He wanted to ask my advice. - About what?
That Jubba, his agent, or whatever the hell he is...
..told him that if a chance came up to score tonight,
he was to stick it over the top or put it wide.
He should throw the match?
If he wanted to come to the Wanderers, that is.
There's some sort of betting syndicate behind it.
Absolute tripe.
Duke Ward, he's a bitter, washed-up, old has-been.
The boys he discovered, Jack, John-Paul, rest his soul,
made small fortunes, living the high life,
and he's cycling round Ulster in all weathers still panning for gold.
The other morning, after the photoshoot,
I overheard you and Ray Jubba
discussing telling someone something after the match.
Who was it? What were you gonna tell them?
That? It...
Well, it's got no bearing on what might have happened to John-Paul.
It can't have.
We'll be the judge of that.
We were talking about...
putting Jack out on loan to Fulchester. That was all.
Look, there... There's no shame in it.
He's had a good run.
12 years.
He's just... not what he was.
Which of us is, Mr Lofthouse?
I suppose the day that the next man's just that half a yard faster
comes to all of us sooner or later.
I suppose, for Swift, Martinelli was that man.
Nobody can outrun time. Not even Jack Swift.
Do you think he could've done it?
Morse! Here he is.
Who's this?
This is Detective Chief Inspector Thursday.
Mr Swift.
- So, what happened to you? - I couldn't face it.
Come on, don't be mad.
Have a drink.
We can't protect you if you just disappear, Mr Swift.
That's done with, isn't it? We played the match.
Nothing happened.
Well, you might have told miss Eriksson you were leaving.
Sure, you know what she's like. I couldn't.
Is she upset?
- Where did you go? - I came back here.
- Alone? - Of course, alone.
That looked like a nasty set-to with John-Paul Martinelli.
The cheeky wee sh...
That's just the game, you know.
I shook his hand when the whistle went and we swapped shirts.
Then the fans started pouring onto the pitch and we just legged it.
- Did you see him when you got off? - No.
I looked for him, just to make sure he was all right, like.
Make sure the fans hadn't got to him, missing that free kick.
- Why? - He's dead.
He was found earlier this evening.
in the home team changing room...
- wearing your shirt. - Jesus...
Oh, my God.
They didn't think that he was me, did they?
What happened, is he shot?
We can't be sure it was a case of mistaken identity.
But we do believe that foul play was involved.
Your friend Mr Ward seemed to think
he'd got caught up in some kind of racket.
- How do you mean? - Fixing the game.
He got it into his head your agent was involved.
No, man.
That's just Duke. You don't...
You don't want to put anything into what he says.
That's just his way.
What the hell are you playing at?
I've been going out of my mind!
There was no need. I'm perfectly fine.
Mr Swift...
Come on...
Will you be all right minding the shop till the relief gets here?
Right-ho.
You had some excitement last night, didn't you?
Word is, whoever they sent after him got the wrong man.
Well, that presumes it was who they sent after him.
If you ask me, I think the whole thing's a bloody wild-goose chase.
Perhaps. The coffee's on.
I think, if I hated someone enough to kill them,
I'd know how to spell their name.
Don't you?
Someone smart playing the fool?
Smart enough to know that Stamfield
wouldn't open his own post, certainly.
There was a Valentine's card.
At her bedsit. From her fiance, I took it.
Noel Baxter.
No, in the wreckage of her office.
It's possible a girl could have two unknown admirers.
True.
But it'd be handy to know who he was, this other man, don't you think?
Further to your letter the 3rd inst,
as mentioned in my previous correspondence,
the college's position on entertaining...
- You still do The Pools? - Yeah.
I've been at the old eight from ten for 35 years
and never won so much as a thruppenny bit.
Why do you still do it?
I'm an optimist.
I used to do it with Sam when he was small, you know.
We'd study the league results in the paper, who'd won, who'd lost
and who was due for a draw.
I used to take him down Potter's lane when we first came to Oxford.
The Field, you know, the Wanderers' ground,
watch the home game from the terraces.
Did you ever...?
No.
It'll be useful to know who
Miss Widdowson's other admirer was, don't you think?
Well, we're going to be tied up with Martinelli.
And if you're gonna be fit for keeping an eye on Swift all night,
- if I was you, I'd get some kip. - Oh, I'll sleep when I'm dead.
Did you give your fiancee a Valentine's card?
I was working in Hastings over the weekend, and...
what with the post being what it is,
I dropped it round her flat Monday afternoon on my lunch break.
Dropped it round her flat, yeah?
How did she seem, the last time you saw her?
Excited.
She'd just come into some money, or was about to.
A great aunt was very ill,
and Maggie said she'd always been her favourite, so...
So she had expectations?
Enough for a deposit on a flat for us, she thought.
- Did she? - Yeah.
It was a relief, as her bedsit had been burgled the week before last.
- Not that there was much to take. - She reported it, presumably?
To the police?
I told her to, but...
she couldn't see the point.
A special service to commemorate the loss of Miss Widdowson
will be held on the second Sunday after Septuagesima...
and all the academic faculty will be expected to attend.
- Thank you for waiting. - No problem.
- You were here on Monday? - That's right.
- Is there news? - I'm afraid not.
I'm just following a few avenues of inquiry.
I wonder, did Miss Widdowson ever talk to you about her personal life?
To me?
No. Not particularly, I don't recall.
But you knew she was engaged, presumably?
Miss Newell may have mentioned it.
I wonder, did she have any admirers here at college?
If there were, it's not something she ever vouchsafed to me.
I understand, in the general scheme of things,
she wouldn't ordinarily have been in the office
at the time of the explosion.
There isn't an hour goes by I don't reproach myself, believe me.
One can't conduct business with others
as if they might be about to die at any moment, but...
God knows how many times these past few days
I've wished I'd never given Miss Widdowson a ticking off.
Forensics came back with a set of dabs on the champagne bottle.
It's a match for one of the sets we took last night.
Not leaving us, Mr Sellars?
No. Just seeing Jack's family to the station.
Fair enough.
We're gonna need a further statement from you about last night.
Marmaduke Ward?
I'm arresting you on suspicion of the murder of John-Paul Martinelli.
Mr Sarson?
Thank you.
- She was typing up a paper for you? - My thesis.
There was a Valentine's card recovered from the office.
One-four-three.
She liked to do the crossword on her way into work...
on the 33.
One-four-three.
I love you.
- Did she know how you felt about her? - No.
Were you aware she was engaged to be married?
I'd seen her engagement ring, of course.
But...
a fella can hope.
- When did you leave the card? - Before it got light on Monday.
And how did you get into college?
In through here, the fellows' garden.
There's a gate that gives on to the lane.
It's kept shut overnight,
but you can snick the lock if you have the knack.
It was already open when I got here.
As a matter of fact, I almost got caught.
It was the Master?
I didn't see his face, but the lights were on in his rooms
and he was coming out of the office.
So, I assumed he was just in early to work.
And when you left the Valentine's card,
did you notice a brown paper package on Maggie's desk?
I'm sorry, I...
I was so rattled by almost running into old Stammers,
my heart was in my mouth.
I just dropped the card off and ran.
Right.
I've stood on the sidelines of football pitches in all weathers.
This playing field, that youth club.
Nights so freezing cold
I couldn't feel my hands or feet cycling back home.
All for the game.
All those boys whose early promise never came to anything.
The ones who lacked the nerve.
The ones who would get some girl in the family way...
and then grind all the hopes that you had for them into the dirt.
Year in, year out.
You wonder what the hell you've done with your life.
And then, one day...
you see a boy...
..with talent so out of the ordinary...
..that it could only have come from the Almighty.
Jack Swift.
You do what you can to take them under your wing.
You know...
train them up.
And then watch them throw it all away on trivial things.
Fast living.
Women. Cars.
Frivolities.
You were afraid history would repeat itself with Martinelli.
I found that boy.
I gave him the world.
I tried to warn him about Ray Jubba.
But...
..he just turned away from me,
like I was some... beggarman.
Is that when you hit him?
We've got your fingerprints on the champagne bottle.
I took the bottle off him.
He was about to open it.
I said to him, "Is this what you want?
"Is this all it means to you?"
I took the bottle off him,
but I set it down on the bench by the door on my way out.
Harm a hair on that wee boy's head?
I'd sooner have cut my own throat.
Morse.
Miss Thursday.
I'm, er... I'm looking for a Mrs O'Rourke.
Maggie's sister.
Jim came by. Strange. Erm...
She's taken her little girl to the park, but she'll be back soon.
If you want to wait.
Do you want a drink?
Bit early for me.
And to be honest, I'd sooner you didn't...
if you're gonna talk to the kids.
It's just most of them have experience of...
men who reek of booze.
Well... waste not, want not.
Thanks.
You never used to be so censorious.
Well, you never used to put it away in the middle of the afternoon.
"Put it away in the middle of the afternoon"? Come on.
What will be next? "I'm going back to mother"?
I feel like I missed something.
No.
Are you sure?
Well, if you did, then it was nothing much.
The mess you mentioned when you wrote,
did you manage to put it right, or...?
Oh, yes, that all... That all ended as it should.
Morse...
What is this place?
Some kind of halfway house?
I don't know it from the council list.
It's not council, just...
somewhere they can get away to.
If they need help. Somewhere they can be safe.
You're saving the world.
One woman at a time.
What's she like, Mrs O'Rourke?
Jim didn't say?
Well, I think Detective Sergeant Strange has many qualities,
but I wouldn't rank sensitivity paramount amongst them.
Oh, I don't know. In my experience,
he can be quite thoughtful when the occasion demands it.
In your experience? You want to try living with him.
I heard he ended up in hospital.
Dad said you saved him.
No.
No, you shouldn't believe everything that you hear.
And poor Mr Bright.
Yeah, it was a bad year.
How was, erm...?
Stevenage.
I thought it might be a new start.
But it turns out... children can be just as miserable
and neglected there as they can in Oxford.
And with Sam away, I didn't like to leave Mum.
So...
..I came back.
Did Mrs O'Rourke ever mention a great aunt
of whom she had expectations?
Not to me.
I really think she should be here if you're gonna go through her things.
I'm not going through her things. I'm just looking.
What was it Miss Widdowson brought for the children?
Just a box of toys and the doll's house.
Why?
Well, I think she thought...
someone intended her harm.
Her bedsit was broken into last week.
- She was burgled? - No, that's not what I said.
I think someone was looking for something.
Only, they didn't find it because...
..she's hidden it somewhere safe.
Professor Stamfield...
Can we have a word?
Yes, of course.
You'll have to excuse me.
We're still in a state of some disarray after...
..after the tragedy.
Still managing to keep up with your correspondence, though.
I should think that thing's a godsend, isn't it?
Oh, yes. I don't know what I ever did without it.
I'm partial to a gadget, myself.
These, er, cassette tapes they have now, is it?
That's right.
My sergeant played me a cassette tape he came by this afternoon.
I'd be glad of your opinion of it. Morse...
'it has come to my attention that undergraduates
'have been using the fellows' garden entrance after curfew.'
- Not only is this... - Mr Fenner, Master.
Robert! Come in, do.
- Thank you, Maggie. - Thank you, Maggie.
Sherry, or something stronger?
Er, Scotch, if we're celebrating.
I say, this is smart. I must get me one of these.
- Testing, testing... - I wouldn't be without it.
Of course, it's no substitute for
a pert little secretary on one's lap.
Absolutely!
So...
The Field.
The Field that Fenner mentions is the Wanderers' home turf.
Now, the team is so-called because,
originally, they shared a ground
with any football or rugby club who'd have them.
But in 1897, they were granted a 75-year lease
on a field at Potter's Lane by the college that owned the land.
This college. 1897.
Which means the lease expires next year.
Worth a bob or two, I should think, the land the stadium sits on.
- I can explain. - Let's hope so.
Because, as the tape goes on,
it sounds like you're conniving with Fenner
to make sure the college refuses to renew the Wanderers' lease.
Then, presumably after a decent interval,
Fenner acquires the land for redevelopment
and you get a fee for services rendered.
'The college must never find out.'
'I've got as much to lose as you.'
If the Wanderers got wind that their chairman had conspired
to steal their home ground out from under them,
the fans would string me up.
So, don't worry. No-one will find out.
It's just between you and me.
But unfortunately, it didn't stay just between you and Fenner, did it?
As she does every afternoon,
Maggie Widdowson came in to collect the cassette tape
and type up your correspondence.
'Is that altogether legal, Robert?'
'Well, if it was, you wouldn't be in line
'for 15% kickback on the deal, would you?'
She told her fiance that she was expecting a bequest
from a great aunt.
We spoke to her family.
There was no great aunt.
Nor was there any windfall due.
So, how much did she ask for?
5,000.
Is that what she died for, £5,000?
Against all that you and Fenner stood to make?
- No. I wanted to pay her off. - So, why didn't you?
Swift not training today?
No, the manager's given him the day off after everything.
We've just come from Lonsdale.
Presumably it was Mr Tressell,
the building contractor who sponsored your fashion show,
- that provided you with the dynamite. - What's this?
Though I don't suppose he knew it was meant for the bomb
you used to kill Maggie Widdowson.
The country reeling from a spate of bombings by the Angry Brigade,
yours might have been taken for the same.
Only, this time, with fatal consequences.
You can't prove a word of this.
Actually, we can.
The fragments that remain of the brown paper
that the bomb was wrapped in show that it had been marked
with a substance containing wax, clay and colourant.
Dressmaker's chalk.
On the same brown paper, I'd seen used by your pattern cutter
ahead of your fashion show.
You're gonna need more than that.
We've also got the alarm clock you used as a timer.
What's left of it, at least.
Forensics have put it back together.
So there's that.
I've never owned an alarm clock.
- Really? - No.
Only, it matches one in a photograph of Mrs Fenner
taken in your bedroom that appeared in the colour supplement.
You must think I'm a fool.
What sort of a man would use materials from work
and his wife's own alarm clock to make a bomb?
A very arrogant man.
The kind who thinks an explosion would destroy all evidence
that could trace the bomb back to him.
We also have a confession from your accomplice, of course.
Now, Professor Stamfield told us that
you'd told him you'd leave the hush money
that Maggie Widdowson demanded on her desk.
But instead, you left an explosive.
- He's a liar. - You were seen
leaving the Master's office in the early hours of the morning
by a young man intent on leaving a Valentine's card
to the woman you murdered.
The gown and mortarboard was a nice touch.
But no don would be abroad in full academic rig at that time of night.
What was it?
You thought she'd ask for more?
That's usually the way with blackmailers.
Or did you just want to make sure her mouth was shut?
Robert Fenner, I am arresting you
for the murder of Maggie Widdowson.
They've admitted it?
Both declining to answer on the advice of their lawyers, sir.
Much good that will do when they've already condemned themselves
out of their own mouths on the recording.
Taken together with the forensic evidence,
I can't see any jury giving them the benefit of the doubt.
Well...
..excellent work.
- Carry on. - Sir.
Sir, are you sure Ward wasn't at the Plaza Hotel on Saturday?
We checked. The call was made on Saturday,
but none of the guests for This Is Your Life
were booked into the Plaza till Monday.
No, that's not entirely correct.
Swift said he saw one of them in town last week.
Detective Sergeant Morse, Mrs Sellars.
Chief Inspector Thursday. Thames Valley.
Is your husband here?
- No, not at the minute. - Perhaps you can help us.
- It's not very convenient. - We shan't take long.
Oh, could you leave that, please?
I've a bad headache.
When did you get to Oxford for the This Is Your Life programme?
Monday.
You flew in, or...?
Yes, the programme sent the...
They took care of all that.
And your husband? When did he get in to Oxford?
- He came with me. - Really?
Only, he was seen here last week.
Is yours a happy marriage, Mrs Sellars?
I'm as happy as I've always been.
Your husband? Why?
At the party after the show the other night, he was jealous.
- Of you and Jack Swift? - Me and Jack?
God, no.
You wore a ring on a chain in the message
that you made for him.
I saw that ring this morning at Mr Swift's house.
Mrs Sellers?
We bunked off school and went to Portrush.
This beautiful blue day.
Barry's Amusement Park.
Down the arcade there were these gumball lucky dip machines.
You put your money in and turn the handle and it's a surprise,
cos you don't know what you're gonna get.
Out pops this little plastic egg thing.
We opened it up and there it was, a heart-shaped ring.
He closed it on my finger and said he loved me.
I could probably have been Mrs Swift, too.
We might've had a regular life together.
Only, Duke Ward put the finish to it.
How's that?
He told Jack he wouldn't recommend him for trials over here.
He made it plain.
It was me or football.
So, Jack Swift got fame and fortune, and you got his best friend.
I don't know if it's just he wanted something Jack had had
or if he felt something for me, but...
..George asked and, by that stage,
I didn't much care one way or another.
Right, so, why was your ring in Mr Swift's house?
He came to see me after the match.
When he saw what George had done.
Why?
I'll kill him.
Stop, now. Stop.
You were always my girl, Sarah.
I never stopped loving you.
I love you still.
Come on Jack, stop. Erm...
It's half a lifetime ago.
You're in love with a girl dead and gone these 15 years.
I'm not her any more. And she's not me.
Here...
I've held on to it long enough.
Some things you have to let be.
You should go.
If Jack Swift wasn't the cause of your husband's jealousy,
then who was it?
John-Paul Martinelli.
It was him that your husband was looking for
when he ran into Duke Ward, not Jack.
He was a good-looking boy. But it was nothing.
Five minutes in a laundry closet. Just... fun.
A bit of life.
How did your husband find out?
Oh, he smelt his aftershave on me.
So, what was he doing in Oxford last week?
I don't know.
But he has a gun in the case. I saw it when he was packing.
Why would your husband have a gun?
He doesn't tell me the half of it.
Out with the lads after dark playing soldiers with the boyos.
So, you're saying, what, he's part of some Loyalist militia?
You think it's just the other side deals in guns and bombs?
You people, you get what you see in the papers,
but you've really no idea how things are.
The Order, the 12th, the pipes and drums.
Them hating us, us hating them.
Where is he, Mrs Sellars? Where's your husband?
Are you expecting anyone?
Christ!
- What have you done? Is he dead? - He'd better be.
Shut up!
Bridge, be quiet, love. George...
Whatever this is, she's no part of it.
- Have you gone mad? - By order of the Brigade Staff.
The Brigade? The bloody Blacknecks?
Tried in absentia and found guilty of providing funds...
- Georgie... - ..providing funds
to the Provisional Irish Republican Army.
What? Where?
You played in a charity exhibition five-a-side game last year.
Some of the proceeds went to enemies of the Crown.
Jesus, George! I must do 50 charity things a year!
I don't know what it's for or where the money goes.
Ray organises my time. I just turn up and play!
- That's too bad. - W-W-Wait a minute, please...!
Five-a-side was for, er...
was for youth clubs.
It was for kids who like football, George.
Same as we did. It was for kids.
Catholic kids.
And some part of the money you raised found its way
into the Taigs' war chest.
The sentence is death, Jackie.
You tell them I wasn't afraid.
I'll tell them you begged.
Then you'll be a liar as well as a killer.
The mission's over, Mr Sellars.
You...
Jesus, God!
- Do I have to have a massacre here?! - No, nobody dies here.
If you kill Jack, all sympathy for your cause will be gone.
- It would be an own goal. - Drop it!
Down on your knees. Put the gun on the floor.
On your knees!
A plot to murder one of their own
for which their enemy would be held culpable.
Hell of a coup if they'd pulled it off.
Is this what it's come to, Thursday,
gunmen roaming the streets, political violence?
It's war.
Undeclared, perhaps. But war all the same.
A one-off, surely?
Swift's crossed these people, upset them in some particular.
I hope you're right, sir.
But it feels more like the start of something than the end.
Pray God you're wrong, Thursday.
I pray God you're wrong.
Are you all right?
Would you be?
We grew up together.
Is that it? Are we safe?
Well, at least we know what the plan is now.
If they were to do it again, then they'd have to own it.
And I don't think they have the stomach for that.
I won't live in fear.
Hopefully, you won't have to.
But Special Branch will keep a watching brief, just to be sure.
How's your man?
Oh, he's in with a chance, they tell me.
Well...
Er, good luck with the, erm... the football cup.
Thanks.
Morse...
Thank you.
Can we make it stick, do you think, for Martinelli?
Well, we've motive and opportunity,
but the evidence is circumstantial at best.
Taken together with an attempted on Swift,
his girl and the Branch man,
it might carry some weight.
I can understand Martinelli. That was jealousy.
Something personal.
But this?
Sectarianism.
Maybe we're as much what we hate as what we love.
In the end, we all pick a team.
Or a team picks you.
Not if you're no good at sports.
I was always the last to be chosen.
The one neither side wanted in the team.
I chose you.