01x03 - Love and Other Puzzles

[bunniefuu]

Busty divorcee, fifties,

seeks energetic male, any age,

to share dinner,
wine, and et cetera.

Box 19.

sh*t it myself this morning.

No time for hanging.

Mid-season hens,

best eaten as soon as they
come out of rigour mortis,

Don't you agree?

Wait there.

I'll go and scare up some gravy.

A few lumps.

The odd giblet's not
going to k*ll us, hey?

Here's mud in your eye.

Well, I do like a man
who can guess my size.

Oh!

Oh, not quite what
I had in mind,

but I'm game if you are.

How many corners are there
in a kitten?

How many mittens in a rectangle?

Oh, these furry little
blighters are blurring into one.

Oh!

Oh, I might shut
my eyes for a tick.

Morning sister.

Yes, good morning to you, Peggy.

Though, I doubt it's been
a good morning for our

hapless milkman.

Oh, I know.

It's Terry's second
ol' stiff this month.

Poor Terry.

Let's see if the
unfortunate deceased

has her own tale to tell.

Hilary Sympson-Smythe, age 58.

Likely cause of death,
coronary heart disease.

The jigsaw puzzle is
"You Shall Have No Pie,"

based on a nursery rhyme

in which three kittens
lose their mittens.

Yeah, I'm familiar with
the Mother Goose canon.

Hardly thrilling enough
to prompt a heart att*ck.

Just me, or is there something
wrong with this picture?

Well, the picture
and the puzzle.

Meaning?

Piece missing, bottom left.

Question is,

why would anyone attempt
to 200-piece puzzle

with a face covered
in cold cream?

Why indeed?

The greasy pieces are a
puzzler's worst nightmare.

All right, maybe not the worst,

but definitely top five.

Would you mind taking
Peggy house-to-house?

See if anyone heard or
saw anything last night?

Sir.

Lily scent, lanolin base notes.

How long would it take
to do 200-piece puzzle?

Ah, well that can be expressed

as N multiplied by N,

so a 200-piece puzzle

is four times as
difficult as a 100-piece,

while a 500 is 25 times
harder than a 100-piece,

the reason being that one
must compare each jigsaw piece

to N other pieces.

Quite a while.

Yeah, unless she had help.

And given that
she's gone all out

on the frock,
lipstick and pearls,

I bet that help was
a gentleman caller.

Whoever was here was
certainly careful to tidy up.

Oh I'll say.

Not a print insight.

Powdery residue on the
coffee table though.

And some on the sofa too.

Tucked behind the bread bin.

Ah.

Someone should head
down to the Bugle.

And I suppose that
someone ought to be you.

I need to talk to you
about your lonely hearts.

Perfect timing.

You can take advantage of
our one-month free offer.

For an investigation.

Obviously I'd like to help,

but the persons behind our
personals are confidential, Sam,

I'm sure you'll understand.

Even if your
personals are linked

to a possible m*rder case?

Keep talking.

It's strictly on the QT,

but there was a woman found
dead with a jigsaw puzzle,

and her face full of cold cream.

And you're suspicious because?

A hunch.

Do I get an exclusive?

Once I know what
we're dealing with,

and it's safe to go public.

Is that a yes?

It's not a no.

All right, follow me.

Sympson-Smythe,
Sympson-Smythe...

Ah, cheers.

Colin, you're a diamond.

Busty divorcee, fifties,

seeks energetic male any age

to share dinner,
wine, et cetera.

Box 19. Hands-off.

Fair to say,

Hilary was one of our more
enthusiastic customers.

Oh, let's hope it
wasn't the "et cetera"

that finished her off.

So, talk me through the system?

Someone places an ad,

for example, "lonely lady seeks
tall, handsome stranger,".

Or, "frustrated bachelor
seeks assertive",

"successful woman."

They're assigned a box number,

all correspondence is checked
and forwarded every Thursday.

How soon can you get the names
and addresses of these men?

He described him as smart,

upright, gray-haired
and smoking a pipe.

Mr. Arnold left the
honeysuckle cottage,

saw him when he went out
to retrieve a pigeon.

A what?

A pigeon.

Nevermind.

You and Peggy need
to start eliminating.

There's 34 names on that list.

Right, I shall begin.

As I suspected.

Diethyl barbituric acid...

Please don't touch.

Diethyl barbituric acid.

Barbital in powder form,

brand name bentanol,
prescribed for insomnia.

Progress! Good man.

Oh, and if there was any doubt

about whether her
death was suspicious,

you know, Simpson-Smythe
had enough in her system

to fell a giraffe, so...

Hmm.

Right.

You've sent me on
that snowball, sister.

I've earned myself one
too if you're buying.

Evening, sister.

Hello Ruth!

I thought you always
bought your own.

Well sometimes a
girl likes to leave

her principles at the door, Sam,

you know that.

I'll do the honours,
what'll it be?

The usual, thanks.

I knew there was something
about your mystery

that rang a bell.

Alice Croft d*ed at
home on May the ninth,

supposedly of natural causes.

Oh, yes, Mrs. Croft,

a local counsellor
if memory serves.

I interviewed her
daughter for the obit.

She said how tragic it was

that mother didn't get to
finish her new jigsaw puzzle,

the "Madonna of the Yarnwinder."

Apparently the family
took great comfort

from the fact the Holy
Mother was somehow with her

when she passed.

Interesting, but it's
not necessarily a link.

Agreed, which is why I called

and asked a couple
more questions.

It seems Alice Croft
was wearing cold cream

when she was discovered.

Oh gosh. I don't
suppose she was...

A lonely heart?

"Buxom from Bath.

"Attractive mature
widow, fit 50s,"

"seeks energetic
male for frisky fun."

"Box 22."

Sam, you need to
let me go to press.

Not yet.

Why the hell not?

Sorry, sister.

No, no, that's quite all right.

Pretend I'm not here.

Going public will
cause mass hysteria

and scare the k*ller
back into the woodwork.

Then let's hope for your
sake he doesn't strike again.

I wouldn't want that
on my conscience.

Strictly entre nous,

one gets tired being of
in the same position,

week in, week out.

I have you to thank

for opening my eyes
to new possibilities.

The pleasure was all
mine, Mrs. Clark.

Morning.

I'll, um, freshen the teapot.

Thought I would
send WPC Button out

to check the sale of
jigsaw puzzles in the area.

Right, good.

Anything else you
want to tell me about?

Presuming Cyril isn't listening
in from beyond on the grave?

There you are.

Sergeant Livingston needs
his strength building up.

I'm not sure I want
to know what for.

You are honestly
not insinuating.

What?

I have joined Mrs. Clam

and the bell ringers of
St. Michael's Church.

Ah, praise be.

Why didn't you tell me?

And have you make
a mockery of me?

Would I?

No, I think it's great.

So if I joined the bell ringers
would I get sausages too?

Have mine,

the British banger's a
taste I've yet to acquire.

Ah.

Watch out.

Now Mrs. C knows
you're a joiner-iner,

she'll be trying to join
you up to the GSADS.

The G-what?

The Great Slaughter
Amateur Dramatics Society.

Sorry, line?

Wait, got it.

It's true, you love me with
every step of the waltz.

"The merry widow was
last here," Dottie.

Let's take five to revisit
the script, shall we?

And try to not
just say the lines,

but feel them in our core.

Rodolfo.

My core feels there's
some impropriety going on.

Honestly, I didn't
see it won't come

to a bit of Gilbert and
Sullivan or Noel Coward,

if one insists on being modern.

Hello, new blood.

Certainly not.

We're looking for
Colin, if he's around.

I know exactly where he is.

He's either in the lav,

or adjusting the lights,

or, sorry who are
you looking for?

Morning officers.

Everything all right?

Just a quick word, please.

Of course.

Don't keep him too long.

Chaos descends if Dottie
doesn't have a prompt.

Again, from page 66
please, she says!

Sorry to interrupt
whatever this is.

Dostoevsky, Crime
and Punishment.

Mother's quite ambitious,

the cast have being great
sports about it so far,

although she hasn't told
them about the unitards yet.

We just wanted to check
something with you.

Confounding white residue,

from the coffee table.

Subjected it to every
test in Christendom,

yet it stubbornly refuses

to be any familiar
chemical compound.

This test is my last hurrah.

Fingers crossed.

Oh, that is unexpected.

What am I seeing?

Plain as a pike staff.

Polyhedral granules.

Central hylamide fivery cleft.

Corn flour.

Of course, what was I thinking?

So why is it scattered
all over our crime scene?

Thickening the plot, perhaps.

Any insights into the
world of lonely hearts?

Well, thanks to Colin,

we now know Alice and Hilary
both dated two of the same men.

Yes, box 22,

Major Roger Travis, AKA
the Major Heart Sing.

And Box 30,

retired chemist,

Professor...

Claude.

Claude Several,
AKA Bunsen Burner.

Ouch. A man after my own heart.

Interest purely
professional of course.

Good old Colin.

Yeah. Good old Colin.

Ah, the pensive pause.

Something a bit obsessive
about him, don't you think?

The pocket squares and
the persnickety systems.

Does really depend on
one's own benchmark

in regards to efficiency,

and grooming.

I suppose he does have a
connection to both women.

Exactly.

Time to make some house calls.

I only met each lady the once,

and they were but two of many.

So you consider women
interchangeable.

Is that it, professor?

Actually I'm a sufferer
of prosopagnosia,

a condition that renders one...

Unable to recognise faces,

even one's own.

Very good Sergeant.

So I differentiate
women by smell.

Smell?

I can detect different
blood types, in fact.

Hilary was B positive,

quite a rare one, that.

O-negative.

We think the perpetrator

may have had
pharmacological knowledge.

If you're suggesting I use
my expertise to drug women,

I'll assure you I've no need
of chemical intervention

of any kind.

Where were you the night
before last, professor?

A partial eclipse
if I'm not mistaken.

Are you given to lunar
distractions, inspector?

No.

And yet even rational
men such as ourselves

can't help but feel the
eternal tango of the cosmos.

Where were you the night
of June 13th, professor?

I was at a fundraising dinner
for cripples in Mombasa.

I'm a passionate and
vigorous campaigner.

And you can prove that?

My passion and vigour?

No, your whereabouts, professor.

No.

But I've every
confidence that you can.

You sure he'll be here?

Half a pint of stout at 5:45.

Word is you can set your
watch by Major Travis.

Major Travis?

Yes?

Sorry to bother you.

We're investigating an
incident the night before last.

Must be serious if
you're inconveniencing

law-abiding citizens
on a Saturday.

Indeed.

Just a couple of questions,

and we'll let you get
back to your racing pages.

Fire away then, Detective
Inspector Gillespie.

Where were you the
evening of June 13th?

I was here until 6:30 sharp.

Then I walked home.

Straight home?

Any stops, deviations?

I may have taken the
scenic route via the lake.

Did you see or speak to
anyone that could verify that?

No.

My shrapnel injury was
causing discomfort,

so I turned in early.

And yet you may have taken
the scenic route as a detour.

I don't recall.

That's the trouble
with w*r wounds.

They tend to manifest
without warning

at inconvenient moments.

Well, excuse the
inconvenience, Major.

We'll be in touch if
there's anything further.

Obviously I would
take on a male role,

but the beard glue
brings me out in a rash.

Oh, that was the front gate.

Mrs. Clam, got to go.

See you and Dottie for the
readthrough in the morning.

Commonly Wallflower 52,

hoping to bloom.

Better late than never.

Are you my sunshine?

Will respond to all.

Box 31.

Morning!

Queen of the
kitchen as promised.

Don't tell the vicar
it's my new Bible.

Once you've served
kir in a wine glass,

there's no going back.

Oh, I love a Buff Orpington.

Morning, thespians.

Right, I've color-coded
everyone's part.

I'm green.

Dottie, you're pink.

Lois, you're blue.

Lois?

You're blue.

I'm pink!

Blue.

Oh dear, Lois, you're...

What kind of miscreant
could do such a thing?

You've had a terrible shock.

I'll take you in for a
cup of tea, Mrs. Clam.

Or something stronger.

Any thoughts to the
time of death, sister?

Well, I'd estimate between
eight and 11 in the PM.

No one could have
seen this coming.

And yet the same M.O.

The cold cream, the corn flour,
the missing jigsaw piece.

Why?

Well, my guess is the cold cream

is to render the victim
faceless, anonymous,

unable to judge his actions.

Certainly a troubled
psyche at work.

To hell with his psyche.

He's a sick opportunist
using the lonely hearts

to prey on unsuspecting victims.

Yes, but we still need to
understand the motivation.

It's not sexual,

but he obviously likes to
spend time with his victims.

I don't need to understand him.

I just need to catch him.

I need some air.

Sister?

Yes.

Sister.

Look.

I'd say someone took
off their muddy shoes

before entering the house.

Must have dropped
out of the tread.

A stout walking shoe, I'd wager.

How do we know it
belonged to the m*rder*r?

Well, given that it
rained yesterday evening

for the first time in weeks,

and that Lois isn't
the kind of housekeeper

to allow any speck
to go un-scrubbed,

I'd say extremely sure.

What is that? Some
type of grass?

Barley, by the looks.

It won't tell us
who our k*ller is,

but it will certainly
tell us where he's been.

He was lying, Professor Several.

Bunsen burner?

That charity event?

Two eye-witnesses saw him leave

straight after the canapes.

And the night that Alice d*ed?

Claims he was at
some silent retreat

in Lord Pasternak's
folly, alone,

hardly watertight.

I think we should pay
the professor a visit.

Sure I can't tempt
you to a Bloody Mary?

Or a Virgin if you prefer?

Thank you, no.

Where were you last
night, Professor?

Tucked up in bed with
Odette and Pamela,

my cats,

reciting Plutarch together.

Siamese are very vocal you know.

This fundraiser on June 13th,

you were seen leaving early.

Ah.

It's time for some
un-embroidered facts, Professor.

It's true.

I'm dishonest.

And weak, a sl*ve to temptation.

I was not alone.

The charity treasurer and I
went to the little Grange Hotel.

Why did you lie?

Because the lady in question
is a local magistrate.

Wouldn't do for her
reputation to be sullied.

Three women have been
k*lled, Professor.

Your lady friend's reputation
is the least of my worries.

It's true.

The receptionist signed him in

and checked him out
the next morning,

and delivered at
various intervals,

a bottle of absinthe,
two hair nets,

and a plate of Welsh rarebit.

No accounting for taste.

Indeed not.

As for Colin, he left
our rehearsal at 6:45,

took the train to Bonnington,

and alighted at Little Sockford,

for a harpsichord recital.

Anyone see him?

The conductor
clipped his ticket.

He returned home at 2200 hours,

bidding goodnight
to the scoutmaster

before heading up
the front path.

And I bet he could
tell us the colour

of the scoutmaster's shoelaces.

I dare say.

Which leaves the Major.

Any progress on that footprint?

Matter of fact, yes.

So the large structures
are tree seeds,

some sort of conifer.

Combined with the barley
fragments and fungal spores,

we're looking at a
specific time and place,

a pedological
photograph if you will.

A photograph of what?

We'd have to sample mud from
barley fields in the area.

But if we can locate
the same profile,

We'll know who the k*ller is.

Let's go and see if the Major's
got any mud on his shoes.

"Honest, loyal, ex-army
gentlemen of means"

"seeks warmhearted lady for
companionship and home fires."

A lady like Alice Croft
or Hilary Sympson-Smythe,

or Lois Mason.

For the umpteenth time,
I've never met these women.

Mud was found in
Lois Mason's porch.

The remnants perfectly match
the tread of your shoes.

As they no doubt would

the shoes of everyone else

who owns the same
ubiquitous brand.

Awfully clean, aren't they?

Given that you live
in a rural area.

Well, you can take the
man out of the army.

Seems you've
discovered my footwear

is as clean as my conscience,

so you're clutching
at straws, inspector.

You've visited
Gravestocks News Agents

two days before
Hilary was m*rder*d.

What did you buy?

I believe it was
a jigsaw puzzle.

A jigsaw of what?

No idea.

One with a picture on it.

Who for?

My Aunt Edith.

And if you'd done your job,

you would have found out that
I also bought a birthday card

and some parcel string in
order to post it to her

for her birthday,
as I do every year.

What's with the jigsaw
puzzle fixation, Major?

Come now, Inspector.

Once a lady's fertile and
attractive years are behind her,

what else is there
for her to do?

Now, unless you have
some actual evidence,

Inspector Gillespie,

I should take myself
home for supper.

Good day.

I had to just
watch him walk out.

It's unconscionable, I know,

but we simply have no proof.

Apologies. Mrs. Clam, we've
lost our appetite somewhat.

No, I must apologise.

I seem to be ruining breakfast,
lunch and dinner ever since.

Don't worry. Mrs C.

No one's noticed.

Awful to think that Lois
opened her heart to that man,

only to fall into
his terrible trap.

Wait, that's it.

A trap.

We send the Major an
invitation from a fake admirer.

We wait for them to
cr*ck out the bentanol

and then we catch
him in the act.

With respect,

not only are those
ethics somewhat dubious.

Sod the ethics!

But what woman in her right
mind would submit herself

to such a dangerous endeavour?

I shall do it.

Mrs. Clam, no.

Nonsense, I insist!

If I can prevent another lone
woman from being m*rder*d,

then...

That is absolutely
courageous of you,

but it would be
risky and dangerous.

You're on.

Good, I shall see
to the custard.

She's perfect.

Are the Great Slaughter Police
really so under-resourced

that we would use a civilian
in a hunt-trap operation?

You said "we".

What?

Seems you're one of us now.

So what do we think?

There must be something
here between milkmaid

and Moulin Rouge.

Jolly well hope so.

Right.

Let's cook the Major up an
invitation he can't refuse.

So how would you
describe yourself, Vera?

Tidy, churchgoing, spinster.

Put trim, ballroom
dancing, bon viveur.

Very good.

The voice of an expert.

Don't forget he has a type.

Put curvaceous and homely,

likes hugging and baking.

Dreadful!

Perfect.

I had my suspicions
about that Major.

Do you know, he
gets more letters

than any other lonely heart,

even "Stronger with Livestock"
and "Tap Dancing Romeo."

Focus, Colin.

That marcel isn't
going to wave itself.

Sorry, mother.

Ready when you are.

I think this'll work.

What's your worry?

Well just that a
honey trap requires...

Well you you know

honey.

Ready?

Hells bells, Mrs C.

Where have you been
hiding that figure?

I'll thank you to rein in
the profanity Ms. Penny.

Roger that.

Tempted to say that what
you've both achieved

leaves the loaves and the
fishes somewhat in the shade.

We make a great
team, don't we Colin?

The best.

Dear
Major Heart Sing,

That's it, Mrs.
C. Really work it.

I noticed
your advertisement.

Blow us a kiss.

I wish to
invite you for supper.

Though somewhat beyond
the first flush of youth,

I'm told I still have a
certain twinkle in my eye.

Dear Vera,

I hope you won't
think me forward

in calling you by
your Christian name.

So enchanted was
I by your letter,

that I feel we are
already friends.

Needless to say,

I should be delighted to
accept your invitation.

Bear in mind that
barbital has no antidote.

Lethal dose is a mere 55 grains.

Do not drink the sherry.

Because otherwise we will
have to do the dubious honour

of gastric lavage.

How about a role-play?

Shall we, role-play?

So I'll be Major.

Imagine that the date
is going swimmingly,

and I'm about to strike.

Oh.

Uh, splendid vol-au-vents, Vera.

Do have another, Major.

Oh. Don't mind if I do.

Mm...

Time for a top-up,
wouldn't you say?

Now you'll need a reason to
excuse yourself for a moment.

I think I need a lie down.

Well, don't come on too strong.

No, I think I really
do need a lie down.

Might I suggest that
if things get too much,

Mrs. Clam could
utter a safe word?

And then we will intervene.

Yes. Good idea.

I like the word
somnambulant or owl.

A word that is germane
to the scenario.

Well, can't I just say help?

Macaroni. The safe
word is macaroni.

Macaroni?

Macaroni.

Oh!

Courage, Vera.

That was just Peggy.

We have some digging to do.

Godspeed, all!

Macaroni, macaroni.

Chin up, poor thing.

Only nine more to go.

Nine fields and only
one of you sister.

Yes, I do sometimes think an
extra one or two would help.

One of me could do the carrying.

Another could do
the map reading.

I can do the measuring.

I should be in
charge of digging.

I'll gather samples.

Oh, put me down
for tea and tiffin.

You all right, sister?

Yes. I suppose it
has been a long day.

Perhaps it's time for
a slice of Battenberg.

Oh, now you're talking.

Vera!

Major.

You're even prettier in person.

Oh, nonsense.

May I?

Oh... yes.

Do come in.

Of course they prefer
to be shown no mercy.

I cut their heads off,

bury them in my cellar,

then dig them up when
the time is right.

What?

The tubers, the dahlias.

I grew them myself.

Something of a hobby.

Tell me about your interests.

I imagine your Foxtrot
is quite something,

from the looks of you.

My Foxtrot is
strictly off limits!

Sciatica.

Ah, my sympathy.

I fear my dancing days
are also behind me,

but still plenty of lead
in my pencil so to speak.

I shall just pop
on some Mantovani

and then go and warm the oven.

That one's number 17.

Yes, some intriguing nematodes,

but not what we're looking for.

Okay, next?

Number nine.

Like a very boring
game of bingo.

Yes.

Oh!

Bingo, Peggy my girl!

Number nine?

Erm, that's Crooked Mile Field.

So it is, yes.

Oh my.

Didn't leave your Wellies
in the rain again,

did you sister?

No, Peggy.

I fear a far greater
oversight has occurred.

Aren't we supposed to go in?

We need to let it play out.

Abort!

Abort!

Really?

Abort!

Abort, abort!

We are in the middle of...

The k*ller isn't Major Travis!

What?

Well, rather it is Major Travis,

just not that one.

Oh gosh, you weren't wrong.

You certainly are nimble.

Macaroni.

Macaroni!

I think dinner can
wait, don't you?

You may consider me
easy pickings, Major,

but you will not indulge
your hideous perversions

in my parlour!

Excuse me?

Yes. I belong to a
generation of unwed women

who've been put out to grass,

but we shall not be silenced,

and we shall certainly
not be m*rder*d!

Mrs. Clam!

Yes, let's find you a towel.

So this is the field
that the mud's on?

Crooked Mile Field.

A the railway line cuts
right through the middle.

So he makes sure that the
conductor stamps his ticket,

and then he gets off
the train a stop early.

And then headed back to
Lois's, across country.

But I simply can't see how Colin

has been passing himself
off as Major Travis.

Not to mention he's
20 years too young.

Colin?

You mean hair and makeup Colin?

The architect of my
lonely hearts persona?

Let's make some tea, shall we?

Tea...

Oh, of course.

The cornflour, to
whiten the hair!

Yes!

I say, Colin's been studying
the Major for some time.

Learning his
mannerisms and whatnot.

Quite the performance.

A tragedy at that.

Time for his curtain call.

Oh!

Yes?

Well, he's not at his desk.

Fine, give me a sec.

Proofs.

Proofs.

Fight over,

I just spoke to
Peggy. Safe and sound.

Splendid.

Everything all right?

Never better!

You have to
catch me first!

Oh, get lost, Colin!

It's not even nine o'clock.

Mrs. Sweet, it's
Inspector Gillespie.

Is Colin not at home?

No, I told him...

Asked him to stay out.

One-to-one rehearsal.

It's a very challenging scene.

Do you have any
idea where Colin is?

No.

Looking for these?

I believe you have
something of mine.

Perhaps we could do an exchange.

And what if I say no?

Are you going to do to me what
you did to those other women?

Heaven's no.

You're not at all
the Major's type.

You're nothing but a coward!

Colin, please!

Ruth!

Show's over, Colin.

Take him away.

You are not
obliged to say anything

unless you wish to do so,

but what you say may...

Slow gentle breaths, soldier.

Ruth.

I'm fine.

Nothing worse than
a broken fingernail.

I'm so sorry I let
that happen to you.

So, Rodolfo came on the scene
and you were jealous, angry.

You felt replaced, betrayed.

He hasn't even
learned his lines.

Where'd you get
the bentanol from?

Mother had a stash.

I remember watching
her take it at bedtime,

always the same teacup.

The Lily sent of the cold
cream, the bliss on her face.

She drifted into oblivion.

So the cold cream

wasn't about making
your victims anonymous.

It was about
turning them to Ida,

a version of Ida that
you could control.

Like she controlled you.

Mother never forgave me.

For what?

She had ambitions,

Shaftesbury Avenue, Broadway.

But father ran off and
she had to ditch it all

to look after me.

Times were tough.

She was good at spotting talent,

and my talent was
jigsaw puzzles.

She started drinking heavily.

Prize money was a lifeline.

Second place means you lost.

Let's not let nerves get the
better of us again, shall we?

It's a sad story.

But people have worse
mothers than yours.

You don't see them plying
women with barbiturates

and watching them die.

You know, I've
never hurt mother.

I love her, despite how
she's been carrying on.

Honestly, it's unseemly.

Unseemly?

Three women are dead.

Oh dear.

You're hurting.

You feel you failed.

We've so much in common.

No, we're done.

And you're in jail,

hopefully for the
rest of your life.

I don't fear incarceration.

After all, a lock is
just another puzzle.

Put the pieces in
the correct order

and it's open sesame.

Ready?

Not bad news I hope?

It's from the Major.

Oh dear.

Dry cleaning bill?

May I?

Dear Vera,

so taken was I by your
pluck and fortitude,

not to mention your
delightful hors d'oeuvres,

that I would wish to see...

See you again.

There's only one mom
that I want to see again.

Today would have been
Cyril's 70th birthday.

I expected to be
surrounded by children

and grandchildren by now.

He was a brave man.

The bravest.

And the best.

He would've been proud of you.

Come along!

Those bells aren't going
to ring themselves.