01x02 - Episode 2

[bunniefuu]

'Sir Magnus Pye was m*rder*d

'two days after he returned
to his home at Pye Hall.

'Oh, no, that's crap.

'Monday... Tuesday evening.
The funeral.

'The burglary.

'There is nowhere more dangerous
than an English village.

'Much better.

'And, in Saxby-On-Avon,

'everybody had a reason
to wish Sir Magnus dead.

'But which one of them was it?
Who struck the fatal blow?

'Brent, the gardener?'

"You're worse than useless.
I've had enough of you..."

- '...Sir Magnus said.'
- "What are you suggesting?

"That I didn't want to be fired,
so I cut his head off?"

'Very snarky.

'But could there be another
reason for the k*lling?

'What about the tragedy
at the lake twelve years ago?

'Could it be that Sir Magnus
was responsible?'

"You never blamed him?"

'Pund.
Very German accent.'

"If I say I did Mr Pund, would
you accuse me of his m*rder?"

'Yes, I like that.

'And then there was the untimely
death of Mary Blakiston.

'Did her ex-husband
want revenge?'

"You were no friend
of Sir Magnus."

"He took my wife and my family.

"He took everything
I ever loved."

'There was no love lost

'between him
and his sister Clarissa.'

"Pye Hall and all the land
should've been mine."

'And as for his marriage,
it was worse than mine.

"One day, I swear,
I'll put a Kn*fe in you,

"and I won't care
if I hang for it."

'That's it.
Get all the suspects lined up,

'and then...

'That night,
Sir Magnus was alone.

'Darkness had fallen
on Saxby-On-Avon.

'At Pye Hall, all was still.

'But in the grounds, a soft
breeze rippled across the lake.

'The water was as cold
and as black as death itself.

'And that night, indeed,

'the house was to be witness
to m*rder.'

"I think you ought to leave."

Huh-huh.

Here we are.
Your tea.

Thank you, James.

Did you see this?

Yes. Dreadful.

Poor Lady Mountbatten.

- I'm sorry?
- Her car was stolen.

It says it was
in the middle of Hyde Park.

Oh, no.
No, no, no.

That's not the story
I meant. Here.

"Baronet m*rder*d."

"Police were called
to the village of Saxby-on-Avon

"following the death
of Sir Magnus Pye,

"a wealthy local landowner
and the owner of Pye Hall."

Sir Magnus Pye.

- We don't know him, do we?
- No,

but Saxby-on-Avon is the village
the young lady came from.

Joy Sanderling.

You introduced her to me
recently.

Of course!

And Mary Blakiston,
the mother of her fiance,

also d*ed at Pye Hall.

- She worked for Sir Magnus.
- Eh... quite a coincidence.

A coincidence?
You think so?

I told Miss Sanderling
that I could not help,

there was nothing I could do,

but what she asked me
was rumour, innuendo.

A suspicion
that Robert Blakiston

might have played a part
in his mother's death.

And does this make
any difference?

Oh, yes.

This is m*rder.

And m*rder can be solved.

So you think
they're connected?

Mary Blakiston
and Sir Magnus Pye?

She was his housekeeper,
so the answer is self-evident.

It's my belief there is
no such thing as a coincidence.

Everything in life
is part of a pattern,

and coincidence
is simply the moment

when that pattern
becomes briefly visible.

As such, it must be
of great value to the detective.

It's something
that I've written about.

Mm, your book.

"The Landscape
of Criminal Investigation".

I can't wait to read it.

The way things are going, you
may end up having to write it.

You'll never stop this flame

I will never let you go

Well, who am I to say?

Maybe by now you should know

You got your somebody calling

You think you're somebody,
don't you?

I think you're scared
of keeping somebody close

You'll never stop this flame

I will never let you go

Excuse me.

- Uh, what's happening here?
- Roadworks.

Y... Yeah.
I... I sort of got that.

Um, it's just that I've been
sitting here quite a while.

- There's lights.
- Do they ever go green?

They're green now.

- Nobody's moving, though.
- Yeah, I've noticed.

Come on!

- Hello, you!
- Hi, Katie!

- Ah, this is a surprise!
- I told you I was coming!

I know, but you actually
turned up.

Oh!

Come on, come on in.

- I'll put the kettle on.
- Oh, great. Thanks.

Hey.

Uh, how's the room?

Perfect.
Of course.

Sure you don't mind me staying?

Oh, no, no.
I'm happy to see you.

It's just going to be us,
though, I'm afraid.

- Oh, where's Gordon?
- Uh, New York. At a conference.

New York!
And you didn't want to go?

Oh, I couldn't get
that much time off.

- What, from the garden centre?
- Mm. They made me manager.

- I know. Congratulations.
- Thank you.

Well, it's
Horticultural Manager.

It's one under General Manager.

- But you enjoy it.
- Yeah, it keeps me busy.

Jack's in Amsterdam,

getting up to God knows what,
and Daisy's with friends,

so it really is just me and you
against the world.

Like we always were.

What do you mean?

Oh, when we were children.

Yeah, I saw the photo.

- Which photo?
- In the bedroom.

Oh, that's just there
because that's where it is.

- I didn't put it there.
- Oh, I know.

It's funny, though,
looking at it, though, isn't it?

We were inseparable.

- We were.
- Until we separated.

I'm not sure
that we did, did we?

Well, you in London,
me here.

Yeah, I'm sorry.

I haven't really been in touch
very much lately.

It's just that I've been
so busy with the company

and now this business
with Alan...

- No, I was sorry to hear that.
- Yeah.

Look, I know you hate it,
but do you mind if I smoke?

You never liked him, did you?

Oh, he was a complete
pain in the arse.

Every dot, every comma...

I mean, I know a lot of authors
are protective of their work,

but with Alan it was like I was
trying to rewrite the Bible.

He took against me
at our very first meeting,

so from then on, we only ever
communicated by email.

So, are you here
for the funeral?

No.
That's next weekend.

I know it's gonna sound crazy,

but I'm here to look
for the last chapter

of his new book,
"Magpie Murders".

Is it missing?

Well, we don't even know
if he wrote it,

but he certainly never sent it.

Now he's dead
and we really need it,

or we could go out of business
if we don't find it.

- Seriously?
- Seriously. Yeah.

When did you last see him?

Oh, about two years ago,
I think.

I used to bump into him
in Woodbridge.

He must have shown the book
to someone.

Maybe he even
gave someone a copy.

So, where are you
gonna start?

Alan lived outside a village.

I'll start there.

I was a great fan
of his books.

I have to say
it was a terrible shock.

You found him.

On Sunday morning, yes.

It was horrible.

I'll never get that image
out of my head.

I'm sorry.

Thank you.

How well did you know him?

Well, I'd been his solicitor
for many years.

I acted for him
when he bought Abbey Grange

and of course
in the matter of his divorce

from his wife, Melissa.

Did you know that he was ill?

No. He never
mentioned it to me.

So you had no idea he was
intending to k*ll himself?

Of course not.

Although...

What?

Well, he had decided
to make a new will.

That was the reason
I was there at the house.

Oh, so it wasn't social?

No, no, no. We didn't have
that sort of relationship.

Right, right.

And the will?

Well, obviously I can't
disclose any of the contents.

No. No, no, no.
Of course.

I mean, I wouldn't dream
of asking.

I was a great admirer
of his work.

I've always loved
a good m*rder story,

and Alan, well, he always kept
you guessing right till the end.

- You've read all his books?
- Oh, absolutely.

He told me he was going
to base a character on me...

- Ah!
- ...in the new book.

I'm very much looking forward
to that.

And he would always sign a first
edition for me and my wife.

That's the two of us there
at a charity dinner.

Right.

I don't suppose he ever
showed you the manuscripts

before they were finished?

If only.
I'd have been honoured.

But, uh, no, he never really
talked about his work.

And he didn't give you
a copy or anything like that

- for safekeeping?
- No.

Mr Khan...

I need to get into Abbey Grange
to find something.

Don't suppose you could help me?

I'm afraid I don't have a key,

and even if I did,
I couldn't possibly let you in.

Although I understand
his partner, James Taylor,

is in residence.

Permanently?

So I believe.

Abbey Grange
is a splendid house,

a remarkable place.

It will be hard to imagine it
without Alan there.

Herr Pund!

My dear
Detective Inspector Chubb.

It's a great pleasure
to see you again.

- Mr Fraser.
- Hello.

Oh, it still baffles me
how you did it last time.

A dead body in a locked room,
the key in the butter dish -

- it made no sense to me at all.
- I was aware of that.

I can't imagine

what brings you to this
neck of the woods a second time.

- Did you know Sir Magnus?
- No, we had never met,

but there was a housekeeper
who also d*ed in this place...

Mary Blakiston.
Yes.

Very unfortunate accident.

Well, it has been
suggested to me

there might be more to her death
than meets the eye.

Let me put your mind at rest,
Herr Pund.

I looked into it myself, and it
was absolutely straightforward.

She was vacuuming
at the top of the stairs,

she tripped, and she fell.

And what of last night?

Come in.

The m*rder took place
about nine o'clock last night.

Sir Magnus was decapitated.

So I see.

Now, the sword was taken
from that suit of armour.

A single blow.

A lot of blood.

If you will forgive me,
Detective Inspector,

could we perhaps
begin at the beginning.

Let us go back
to the first death.

What, you're still on about
that housekeeper?

Was Sir Magnus at home at the
time when Mrs Blakiston d*ed?

No, he was away on holiday
with his wife, Lady Pye.

They got home two days
after the funeral.

'An unpleasant surprise
was awaiting them.'

I need a drink.

'Sir Magnus had a collection
of Roman antiquities -

'but only two nights before,

'it turns out
they'd been burgled.'

What the...

I don't believe it.
It's all gone!

How did they get in?

I have no idea.

Mary Blakiston
should have been here.

How irritating of her
to die.

- Oh, for God's sake!
- I told you!

We should have come back.

Oh, I wouldn't go to
a housekeeper's funeral.

Anyway, what difference
would it have made?

We would have been here
when this happened!

Well, where was Brent, hmm?

That's the question
you should be asking. Hmm.

Dithering about in the garden.

Bloody useless.

Where was he?

'And what had been taken?'

A collection of Roman silver.

Coins and jewellery.

It was part
of a treasure trove

that was actually found
in the grounds.

It had been in the family
for generations.

Sir Magnus did not attend the
funeral of his housekeeper, huh?

I don't suppose they were close.

Oh, no. You...
Actually, you'd be wrong there.

By all accounts, Mary Blakiston
was devoted to Sir Magnus.

She thought the world of him.

And he was always
very supportive

of her and her two sons.

In fact, he...
He...

What's he doing?

What he does.

Ah...

Sir Magnus knew his k*ller.

How'd you work that one out?

From the position
of both the door and the armour,

Detective Inspector,
is evident

that Sir Magnus was showing
someone out of the house,

and they were behind him
when the blow was struck.

It's funny
you should say that.

Uh... follow me.

Sir Magnus's office
is through here.

Now, from what
we can work out,

Sir Magnus met someone
in here last night.

The ashes were still warm,

and a second chair had been
brought over to the desk.

The safe.

Uh, that was open
when the body was discovered.

Who discovered the body?

It was Lady Frances Pye.

She got home
a quarter to eleven.

It was a nasty shock.

There's money in there,

and also bonds
and certificates.

Yes, it's interesting,
isn't it?

Looks as if
nothing's been taken.

- Why the fire?
- Why not?

It was not cold last night.

Let me see.

Oh!

Ha-ha! Here!

Here we are.

You see this,
Detective Inspector?

- Blank.
- There's no writing,

but this stain
may be of interest.

- Coffee?
- Or perhaps blood.

I suppose the question is
whose blood?

That is also
what I would like to know.

I'll look into it.

But if you're looking for
really incriminating evidence,

take a look at this.

"You won't get away with it.

"The village
was here before you,

"and it will be here
after you've gone.

"Think again
if you want to live here.

"Think again
if you want to live."

- Unsigned.
- And hand-delivered.

It's strange.

The envelope is hand-written,
and yet the letter is typed.

Where's Lady Pye?

Upstairs in her room.

Her son is with her
back from school.

- You want to talk to her?
- Ay, if that is possible.

She's not exactly
the grieving widow, Mr Pund.

Take care on the stairs.

This is
where Mary Blakiston...

Yes... fell down
and broke her neck.

Unless she was pushed.

Mother,

when will I have to go
back to school?

After the funeral, darling.

I don't like funerals.

Nobody does.

Yes?

Lady Pye, um...

I wonder if we might have
another word?

Really, Detective Inspector,
we have been through all this.

This is Atticus Pund.

He's a well-known
investigator.

Will you take that, darling?

Whoever it is,
tell them I'm not well.

The telephones
don't work upstairs.

Nothing works in this house.

It's just one thing
after another.

Oh, it must have been
a great shock for you, Lady Pye.

To come home and find your
husband's been decapitated?

You could say that, yes.

What can you tell us
about last night?

Not very much.

I was in London.

You were also away
when your housekeeper d*ed.

Mary?

Well, she wasn't m*rder*d.
She fell down the stairs.

What could you possibly
want to know about her?

Two violent deaths
in the same house

in such a short space of time.

You do not consider
there may have be a connection?

I can't say
it had occurred to me.

What was the relationship

between your husband
and Mrs Blakiston?

She was the housekeeper.
There wasn't one!

Oh, are you expecting
a visitor, Lady Pye?

Not unless it's a delivery.

I'll go down,
if you'd like.

Oh, thank you, James.

If you want the truth,

Mary Blakiston was a little
obsessed with my husband.

She'd worked for him
for twenty years.

She thought him a pillar
of wisdom, a mentor,

someone who'd look after her.

And?

Well, of course he wasn't.

- Hi.
- Yes?

James Taylor?

Yes...

I'm Susan Ryeland.

I worked with Alan Conway.
I wondered if I could come in.

You sure you don't want
anything?

No, I'm OK, thanks.

I can't believe I'm finally
getting to meet you.

Alan often used to talk
about you.

Ha!

Not that he ever had
anything nice to say.

You were the, uh...
tricky editor,

the one who stood between
him and his genius.

Ah.

He never mentioned you.

Mm.

Why doesn't that surprise me?

Alan was very private
about that side of things.

He didn't even admit he was gay

till we'd been together
a couple of years.

How did you meet?

Internet.

There's a website I used.
Rent boys.

I charged three hundred quid
an hour.

I hope that doesn't shock you.

Not at all.

He was still married
at the time.

I was just a commodity,

and then, you know,
one thing led to another, and...

And now you get everything.

Did Khan tell you that?

He mentioned that Alan was
thinking of changing his will.

Ah...
That's outrageous.

Whatever happened
to client confidentiality?

He didn't say anything else.

Well, why should I deny it?
Yes!

I get everything.

Do you think that's why
I pushed Alan off the tower?

To stop him signing
the new will?

I suppose
I could have done that.

I'll show you if you like.

Sure.

They say on a clear day
you can see as far as Norfolk.

There's nothing of interest
the entire way.

You don't like living here?

Darling, I'm selling
the moment I get probate.

I can't wait to get out.

Who lives there?

Jack White.

He's a property developer.
Alan hated him.

Why?

He needed a reason?

I don't know.

Alan just took against him.
Access. Hedges.

They used to fight
for right of way on the drive.

This is where he was found.

Yeah.

He often came up here.

He liked the view.

It is a very low wall.

Too low.

There you are, you see.

- Easy to lose your balance.
- Mm.

Lucky I'm here.

I'm sorry to disappoint you,

but I couldn't have pushed Alan
off the tower.

I wasn't on the premises.

- Where were you?
- London.

I was going out of my mind
stuck here.

We were spending
more and more time apart

until we decided...
he decided

it was better
not to be together at all.

Alan put you in his books.

Nice of you to notice.

Yes. I'm James Fraser,
the thick assistant.

He did that to everyone,
and not in a nice way.

He liked to play with people.

Actually,
that's how it was for him.

Writing.
It was all a game.

Have you read "Magpie Murders"?

He never let me read anything
until he finished.

Had he finished?

Yeah, I saw
a finished manuscript.

It's missing the last chapter.

Really?

The last chapter
of a whodunit?

I can see why that might be
a problem.

- That's why I'm here.
- Well,

if it was anywhere,
this is where it'll be.

Do you know the password
to his computer?

"Cat up nudist".
One word.

It's an anagram of Atticus Pund.

Alan loved anagrams.

- That's funny.
- What?

This is where he kept
his notebooks,

but they don't seem to be here.

Has anyone else been
in the room?

Only the police.

You know he only wrote
his first drafts by hand.

- Yeah.
- He liked expensive pens.

They're gone.

- The pens?
- No, the notes.

Yeah, there's nothing
on here either.

No files, nothing.

Maybe you should talk to Claire.

Claire Jenkins,
his sister.

She used to help him
with the manuscripts -

typing, photocopying.

Not sure she did anything
on "Magpie", though.

They had a falling out.

God.

Was there anyone
Alan didn't argue with?

No.

And if someone really did
push him off that tower, well,

put it this way, there'd
have been plenty of volunteers.

Hmm!

- Bye, James.
- Bye.

Mary Blakiston
had it all wrong.

My husband wasn't a saint.

In fact, his behaviour
towards the servants

was actually quite scandalous.

In what way?

Well, let's just say
he had no sense of decorum.

Would you say the two of you
were happily married, Lady Pye?

I've always thought
marriage and happiness

to be mutually exclusive,
Detective Inspector.

But that's just my opinion.

Lady Pye, could you explain

why the safe
in your late husband's study

should have been open?

He must have opened it.

Did anyone else
know the combination?

No, it was just him.

There was also a letter
that we found on his desk.

It would seem to be
of a threatening nature.

Here.

"You won't get away with it.

"The village was here
before you..." Ugh!

- This is about Dingle Dell.
- Dingle Dell?

It's part of the estate.
A wild meadow.

Magnus had no use for it,

so he was planning
to build houses.

A lot of new houses.

Of course the village
were up in arms.

He got quite a lot of these.

You have no idea
who wrote them?

They didn't sign their name.

There was no-one person
in the village

that was vocal in their
opposition to this scheme?

Actually, there was.

You should talk to his
twin sister, Clarissa Pye.

- Yes?
- Miss Pye?

Yes?

My name is, um,
Atticus Pund.

I wonder if we might have
a word?

Well, you better come in.

Dingle Dell is a much-loved part
of the village, Mr Pund.

A precious resource.

Wild flowers, butterflies,
wonderful birdlife.

To build houses on it
would be an act of vandalism,

and I told Magnus that
in no uncertain terms.

Did you write to him,
Miss Pye?

I had no need to write.
I told him to his face.

It must been strange

being on opposing sides,
as it were, brother and sister.

Twin brother and sister.

Had I been born
just five minutes earlier,

there would be no argument.

Why is that?

Because Pye Hall
and all the land,

including Dingle Dell,
would have been mine!

Cake?

Yeah.

Thank you.

- Hello.
- Hello.

Excuse me,
could you tell me something?

- Does this meadow have a name?
- I'm sorry?

- It's not called Dingle Dell?
- No.

I don't think
it's called anything.

It's a lovely place,
don't you think?

- Very peaceful.
- Yes, it is.

- Enjoy it.
- Thank you.

Yes?

- Are you Claire Jenkins?
- Yes.

My name's Susan Ryeland.
I wonder if I might have a word?

Thank you.

I can't help you,
I'm afraid.

I helped Alan with all eight
of the Atticus Pund novels.

I typed them for him.

I did the proof-reading,
the binding and the copying.

But then he decided
he didn't need me anymore.

Why was that?

I prefer not to talk about it.

So you never saw
"Magpie Murders"?

No.

Did you know that he based
a character on you?

No. What character
would that be?

Um, the sister
of Sir Magnus Pye,

the man who gets m*rder*d.

Doesn't surprise me at all,
really. He could be quite cruel.

What makes you think

that the portrait
wasn't a flattering one?

Just assumed.
Have you read it?

- Yes.
- And?

Well...

Well, it... it's...

It's humorous.

I suppose that depends
on your sense of humour.

I'm sure he didn't
mean anything by it, Claire.

Although it does make me wonder
how close the two of you were.

You know, the fact
that he didn't show it to you.

We were close... once.

But then?

After Alan became famous
as a writer...

it was as if I didn't
really know him anymore.

I thought success
would make him happy.

It was what he'd always wanted.

But...

Do you know
why he k*lled himself?

Do you know
why he jumped off that tower?

It wasn't
because he was sick.

It was Atticus Pund.

What do you mean?

Atticus Pund was never
the book he wanted to write.

All that money,
all that success.

The simple truth is...
it drove him mad.

Miss Ryeland!

Detective Superintendent Locke,
you can call me Susan.

Can I ask
what you're doing here?

Can I ask
if I need to tell you?

I've asked you
a simple question, "Susan",

and I've asked it nicely.

Now, if I feel
you're obstructing an officer

in the performance
of his duty,

we can do this
down at the station.

So, you're investigating
Alan's death?

I didn't say that.

I'm trying to track down some
missing pages from his last book

because without them
I can't publish,

and if that happens,
my entire company,

the staff I employ
and fifteen years' hard work

will all go down the drain.

That's why I'm here.

You were visiting
Claire Jenkins.

Yes, because she used to be
his secretary.

She did all his typing for him.
I thought she might have a copy.

- How about you?
- Sorry?

If you're so sure
Alan committed su1c1de,

why are you still
investigating?

I'm not.

I'm here because
Miss Jenkins used to work

at Ipswich Constabulary.

She was a police officer?

She was married
to a police officer.

She used to work in HR.

Did you ever meet Alan Conway?

Yes.

You never mentioned that
in London.

Locke and Chubb.

That's you, isn't it?
In three of the books.

He based a character on you.

The dim detective.

That's why you're so angry.

Now, you listen to me,
Miss Ryeland.

I'm here because
Claire's on her own,

and she just lost her brother
in the worst circumstances,

all right?

Did you tell her
of your suspicions?

That Conway
didn't write that letter

or that someone
forced him to write it?

- No.
- Well, I'm glad to hear it.

Because this is the real world,

and I don't need some fancy...
editor from London

poncing around pretending to be
some sort of private detective!

Now, you find your chapter

if that's really
what you're here for,

but once you've done that...

you stay out of my way.

He was just so aggressive.

'Why did you
let him get to you?'

'Well, because he did.'

- Do you want me to come up?
- 'Yes.'

- No, no. You can't.
- 'I'll tell them I'm sick.'

No, no, Andreas.

'I'm not going to be staying
much longer.

'There's nothing for me to do.'

- You didn't find the chapter.
- 'No. Nothing.'

I'm missing you.

You've only been gone a day.

Locke hates me
because I published Alan.

'Alan turned him into
a character or a caricature.'

And you know what's odd?

He seems to have hated
being a successful writer.

'He treated it like
some kind of unpleasant joke.'

It made him rich.

It didn't make him happy.

Sue!

- Supper!
- OK. Coming.

That's Katie, so, um...
I better go in.

'How is she?'

Ooh, same as ever.

- 'I'll see you tomorrow.'
- Give her my love.

- 'I will. Bye.'
- Bye.

'Bye.'

She doesn't know.

- No.
- You should tell her.

I can't.

You will forgive me
for saying, Mr Patakis,

that Alan Conway's death
could not have been more timely,

where you were concerned.

- I was lucky.
- Hmm.

Here you go.

Cheque's in there.

Thank you.

Hey, got time
for a quick one, vicar?

No, thank you.
Must get back to my sermon.

Here you are.

Mm, thank you, James.
Thank you.

Oop. Cheers.

Prost!

So...

How long do you think
we'll be staying here for?

Your room is not to your liking?

Well, the bed's a bit lumpy,
and as for the plumbing...

- You have no hot water?
- Oh, I have some hot water,

just not enough.

I suppose I shouldn't complain.

It's nice to be out of London.

I'm surprised
you haven't let Miss Sanderling

- know you're here.
- Ah, yes, Miss Sanderling,

who first drew my attention
to Saxby-on-Avon.

I have to ask myself, James,

if I had agreed to her request,
might it have been possible

to prevent the death
of Sir Magnus Pye?

So you do think
the two are connected?

It's self-evident.

On the face of it,

three crimes may have
taken place at Pye Hall,

one after the other.

Three?

First, Mary Blakiston is
threatened by her son, Robert.

Next day,
she's found dead

at the bottom
of a flight of stairs.

Do you think
someone gave her a push?

Inspector Chubb is of the
opinion it was an accident.

But she may have been k*lled
by Robert Blakiston.

That is what
the village believes,

and then, almost immediately
after she's laid to rest,

there's a burglary.

A collection of ancient
Roman silver is taken.

Quite a coincidence.

You know my views
on coincidence.

Mm.

And then,
having returned home

and discovered
that he's been burgled,

Sir Magnus Pye
is decapitated.

Well, he doesn't seem
to have been short of enemies.

There's that
Dingle Dell business

and, uh, his wife
didn't seem too keen on him.

Is it not strange how evil
can find its roots so easily

in an English village?

A place of beauty
and tranquillity...

And yet here it is.

I see it, as it were,
converging from all sides,

and then at the end, when
it can no longer be contained,

v*olence and death.

How did you get on?

I went to Abbey Grange.
Did you ever see it?

No, he never invited me
to his home.

Oh, God!
All those royalties.

He certainly
put them to good use.

Abbey Grange - that's
a Sherlock Holmes short story.

Yeah, he renamed it.

I think he wanted to be
more like Conan Doyle.

- Uh, loved.
- Revered.

This morning,
you said he was miserable.

That didn't stop him having a
high opinion of himself, though.

Well, anyway, you knew him
before me. What was he like?

Well, as a teacher, I never
used to see him that much.

The kids didn't like him.

- Because...?
- Well, he was strict.

Yeah, Andreas
didn't like him much either.

You haven't said anything
about Andreas.

- How is he?
- He's fine.

Was that it?

He's fine!

How long have you two
been together now?

Oh... eugh!
We're not together.

Well, not exactly.

I mean, we're,
we're, we're, we're...

loosely connected.

- You know that's not true.
- We don't even live together!

Well, that's only
cos you won't let him.

It's easier for him. The school
gives him accommodation,

and, anyway,
I'm miles away, so...

I swear I've never
understood you, Susan.

I don't know why you can't
just commit yourself.

Why would I want to?

Because it might
make you happier.

I am happy!

Andreas is thinking about
going back to Crete.

- Since when?
- He's fed up teaching.

He's thinking of buying a hotel
with his cousin.

Well, you haven't
mentioned this before.

- He only told me the other day.
- What about you?

He wants me to go with him.

Well, you might enjoy Crete.

Don't be ridiculous, Katie!

What would I do in Crete?
I've got a job.

Actually,
we've got new investors,

- and they want me to be CEO.
- You told me.

In your last email.

You only ever talk about work,
never about yourself.

That is about myself!

I saw Dad last week.

He was asking about you.

That's nice.

He wants to see you.

- Did he say that?
- Mm.

He's not well, Sue.

He's already had an aneurysm.

That could lead to a stroke.

Katie, please.
I don't want to see him.

I'm sorry, but I don't.

Well, let's eat!

What do you want?

To speak to you.

You're not really here.
Go away.

There are three possibilities,
and only three possibilities,

that you have to consider.

The first is that
Alan Conway slipped

and accidentally
fell to his death.

But if that were the case,

how do you explain that
his computer had been emptied

and his notebooks were gone?

There was, to be sure,
another party involved.

su1c1de, then.

But alone and at night,
without first drinking alcohol,

and when he had sleeping pills
at hand?

There was a letter.

You were told
that it was a su1c1de letter,

and that is how you read it.

Perhaps
you should read it again.

But if it wasn't an accident,
and it wasn't su1c1de...

He argued with his neighbour.

He was about to change his will.
He insulted his sister.

He left his wife
for a young man.

Everyone who read Alan Conway
loved him.

Everyone who met him did not.

- So...
- Just three possibilities.

Consider the third.

Well,
don't change the sheets.

I'll be back...
if you'll have me.

Of course.

Come here.
Bye-bye.

'There are
three possibilities

'and only three possibilities.'

'It's a su1c1de note.'

'Mr Conway
had terminal cancer.'

'It's Atticus Pund.
Drove him mad.'

'If someone really
did push him off that tower,

'there would have been
plenty of volunteers.'

'Everyone
who read Alan Conway loved him.

'Everyone who met him did not.'

'There was a letter.'

'You should read it again.'

Ah!

- He was m*rder*d.
- What?

Uh, Alan Conway.
I've re-read the letter.

- Susan, I...
- No. Look, look, look.

"By the time you read this,
it will all be finished.

"I have achieved great success

"in a life that has gone on
long enough."

Yes, he's telling me
he's decided to k*ll himself.

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

The book is finished.

It's his last book
because he's dying.

He knows that,
but he's accepted it.

That's all he's saying.

Well, that's
one interpretation.

It's the only possibility.

No, what about
this section here? Look.

"I have left you some notes
with regard to my condition

"and to the decision
I have made."

He had cancer.

Maybe the decision
was not to have treatment.

He didn't need to k*ll himself.
He was dead anyway.

So...

So, somebody k*lled him.

And don't you see?

It's his last novel,
and everyone he knew was in it.

And that's why
the last chapter was taken.

Because it reveals the secret.

The answer's in the book.