New Tricks s01e02 Episode Script
Painting on Loan
There you go.
Look, registered with the Stag owners' club.
British steel, British upholstery, British craftsmanship.
It's the last of the great British cars, this.
Oh, look, look smell that leather.
Go on, smell it.
(MOBILE PHONE RINGS) Morning.
Where are you? I'm on my way in now, won't be long.
- What're you wearing? - Pardon? What are you wearing? Well, today I'm wearing boxers.
Blue cotton.
They're quite clingy, too.
When I move, they actually ride Have you got a tie? Hmm? Want to tie me up, do you? - You want to restrain - (HANGS UP) Just the boss.
Well, it's all right Even if you're old and grey, yeah Well, it's all right You still got something to say Well, it's all right Even if they say you're wrong Well, it's all right Sometimes you gotta be strong Hmm.
What else have you got? How about a red one to match his eyes? Oh, come on.
Is that all right? No.
Brian, have a look at this.
''When I became a man, I put away childish things.
'' Looks like Gerry's got a new car.
(CHUCKLING) (LAUGHTER) (GERRY) Okay, retired maybe, but we're still officers of the law.
(BRIAN) Investigating officers.
(JACK) Professionals.
(GERRY) I don't care how posh or precious someone is, there's nobody warrants us getting all done up like this.
It shouldn't matter a toss what we wear.
I mean, no one's that important.
(SANDRA) Will you lot shut up? (BRIAN) We are more than what we wear.
(GERRY) Oh, my gawd! (JACK) Should have worn your cashmere.
(GERRY) I can't believe this.
The first day I don't wear a suit.
- (BRIAN) You like the tie, though? - No, I don't! (BRIAN) I don't get it.
(JACK) What? Art? Naked women.
The naked female body.
See it everywhere.
Art galleries, advertising, films, magazines.
It's all just naked women's bodies.
Yeah? I've never understood the appeal.
Oh, it's fundamental, ain't it? It's sort of evolutionary.
I just see a wild animal with no fur.
Well, here we go.
Posh alert.
and my wife and I really enjoyed your - Prat alert.
Sir Timothy.
What first made you suspect that one of the queen's painting might be a fake? Oh, I I can't take the glory myself.
No, sadly, I'd make a hopeless detective.
No, it was er, it was one of my hawk-eyed, conscientious restorers.
- Part of my crack team.
- (BEVAN CHUCKLES) Let me introduce you.
Jack Halford.
- How do you do? - Gerry Standing.
- Hiya.
- Hello.
- Brian Lane.
- Hi.
- Hello.
- Your crack team.
(BEVAN CHUCKLES) I see you're looking at Draper's ''Gates Of Dawn''.
- Do you enjoy? - Oh, lovely.
- Yeah, it's nice.
- Different.
It's uh, such a tease.
The subject invites one to be academic, to be grandiose, but the paint the flesh, the naked, erotic sensuality stirs sensations far from the intellect.
When one looks at it, one is aroused, and yet one feels guilty.
Suppose to be intellectually stimulating.
That's all very Catholic, I'm afraid.
Sex, the great leveller.
Shall we? Lead on to our vaults of treasures.
Gentlemen.
Um pardon me for being forward, but er you have a speck of something, your cheek.
Okay? All gone.
Perfect.
Thank you.
So you weren't aware at the time that a copy of this painting was being put up for auction? No.
Even if we had, we would have assumed the auctioned painting was a forgery copy (JACK) Which it was.
because we thought we had the original.
Which you don't.
No.
So it would seem.
This is a fake.
So we need to trace the original and return it to the Palace.
That's where UCOS comes in.
With all due respect sir, this is Art Fraud Squad territory.
- We have no expertise in this field.
- Ah! Never underestimate your skills.
There are two main reasons why this is a UCOS inquiry, not Art Fraud.
First is the hypersensitive nature of the inquiry Which means they can trust us to keep our mouths shut whereas Art Fraud are all yap, yap, yap.
And the second reason "I'm a self-serving, arse-kissing little creep.
'' Did you say something? It's by De Creep.
And the second reason The second reason is somewhat embarrassing.
I share it with you in confidence.
My predecessor, Sir Stephen, was a trusted and loyal servant of Her Majesty, and a brilliant art historian and, for me, something of a mentor .
.
but unfortunately he was also As bent as a box of bedsprings, flogging off national treasures and replacing them with fakes.
How many are gone? Officially, only this one.
Do we believe them? Do we care? Well, how much is it worth? Auction estimate 1.
5 million.
Cor! So, we've got two fakes and no sign of the original.
Could run DNA tests on the fakes.
(JACK) DNA? See if we can get a match, find the forger.
- No, this is paint, not blood.
- Spittle.
On the fine detail work, they lick the brushes.
Worth a try.
Mr.
Halford.
The auction house who handled the fake is calling you back on line one.
- Thank you.
- I'll put them through.
Thank you.
- Hello? - Forensics? Brian Lane I don't supposed you even noticed eye shadow plastered across my face, did you? Look, this isn't for us.
This is for Art Fraud and all the Fenellas and the double-barrelled old school brigade.
Don't worry.
We'll do a sweep of the available evidence to see if we can identify the forger and then if it's all dead ends, we'll report to Bevan and move on.
Good.
I'd like a proper case.
So you wouldn't be interested in meeting a Mrs Christine Hardy? Forty-five, living in Primrose Hill, sitting on a priceless art collection belonging to her late husband.
A Mr.
Duncan Hardy.
Her late husband? I'll come with you, Gerry.
No, that's all right.
Come on.
Your car or mine? Ah, we uh yeah, yours.
Thought you didn't like being driven by a woman.
I don't.
Thought it made you feel ''like a proper nonce''.
Yeah, well it's never too late to change your ways, is it? So, where's the Stag then? Garage.
Getting work done? Yeah, sort of.
Panda just on loan, then? I don't know yet.
Don't know? - Can you unlock it or what? - (BEEPING) Duncan was like a squirrel with a pile of nuts.
He doesn't want to eat them, he doesn't need them, but he can't bear the thought of another squirrel getting hold of them.
So he hides them secretively.
It's a man thing.
We don't do it, do we? I don't think so, no.
Do you uh, do you collect anything? Lame dogs.
It's all about acquisition and power.
See that little squirrel likes to check his nuts now and again, have a quick gloat and cover them up again.
But what happens if the squirrel suddenly dies? Well, he can't take them with him.
Course we totally accept that you didn't realise your husband's painting was a fake when you put it up for auction, but do you know where he got it from? Well, he was always buying, I knew mostly at you know, auction or Mayfair galleries.
Did he know it was a fake? I doubt it.
God, I'd love to tell him, just to see his face.
Had you seen the painting before? Oh, I think he'd hung it in one of his offices for a while.
He had more than one office? Duncan had a lot of things which he didn't feel he need to share with me.
- Like? - Two apartments in Barcelona and Nice, a £12,000 engagement ring, recently commissioned for a finger much, much slimmer than mine.
And even four batches of frozen sperm in a clinic in Gibraltar.
That'd be his nuts.
A cloak of secrecy.
I want it lowered down over this whole thing like a blanket.
Secrecy blanket.
Tucked in round the edges so that nothing escapes.
Hospital corners.
I want none of your leads or evidence leaking out from under the blanket.
- That won't be a problem - No one outside your unit .
.
because we haven't got any.
The fine art world can be famously opaque.
I'm sorry, but I I think this falls a fair way outside our field of expertise.
All right.
Don't apologise.
Expecting you just to take this on was a big ask, a very big ask.
Oh, well.
No harm done.
Which is why I've arranged to import expertise.
It's part of a new model of the interdepartmental asset mobility.
- Sorry? - So you get Totty.
- Totty? - Totty.
Totty Vogel-Downing.
(SANDRA) Totty's not your real name? Oh Charlotte, but I've been Totty for ever.
I'll bet.
Totty's been seconded to UCOS from Art Fraud, which means that the investigation is going to continue, only now we have expert help.
- Hi! - So, rounding up all your expert knowledge, what can you tell us about these? His mother had just died.
He moved away from the family estate into a into a sort of self-inflicted exile, choosing the Lake District mainly because of its topographical drama.
- He wasn't happy.
- Who? Stratfold.
The artist.
He was depressed.
(JACK) Here.
Hold on, hold on.
I'm being a bit thick here.
You're looking at two Sexton Blakes and you're telling us that the real artist, the original artist, who didn't paint these because they're fakes, how he was feeling? - Very depressed.
- Er what.
How does that help? - (SANDRA) Not exactly relevant.
- Oh yes, potentially And these are not very good.
And? When you copy an artist's work, you don't choose to copy his worst work.
Unless - Unless? - You're told to.
Paid to.
Unless the work is conveniently available to study in intimate detail, - not hunged in a public gallery.
- So the forger was? Someone who had access.
Probably someone Sir Stephen knew well.
Obviously you've ordered ultrasound and radiographic testing.
- We are running some DNA tests.
- (SANDRA) Spittle.
- Very good.
What about fingerprints? - Um Well, normally, we try to be a little more innovative.
This is a thumbprint.
- Ah, yes.
- See? This smudge, and so is this.
Identical position, identical size.
May've been done like that because the original had a smudge exactly like this, so it's part of the faking process.
And? Well, how would an artist make a thumbprint that look like a thumbprint? - Er - Use his thumb? (GERRY) Is that the dry-cleaner's you want? (JACK) Uh, I didn't really want a lift to the dry-cleaner's.
- But you said - I'm not really a dry-cleaning person.
I'm more your machine-wash type, really.
It's more economical, less chemicals, better for the environment.
What are you talking about? Well, I just thought if I asked you to give me a lift somewhere in your new car, you might, somewhere along the way, be tempted to tell me why you've got a new car, and, ergo, what's happened to the old one.
I sold it.
Yes? Well, it's uh Well, what with me about to become a grandfather, and Paula about to become a single mum, there's gonna be things she needs, so er well I've got a bit of cash-flow problem.
I mean, you know those three-wheeled buggy things, do you know how much they cost? Isn't that what they invented credit cards for? Yeah, well, I'm not allowed one.
I was Declared bankrupt.
- Bankrupt, you're not allowed - Not allowed one, yeah.
Go on, then.
Well, my car's back at the office.
Simply Red, The Corrs, The Corrs Ah! (ARIA FROM PUCCINI'S ''MADAME BUTTERFLY'') (SNORES) What are you reading? Oh, very nice.
Nice to see you reading something that's not an autopsy report or some evidence of how somebody died some horrible death.
Van Gogh chopped his ear off with a bread knife.
Chopped it off and took it to a brothel to give to a prostitute.
(ESTHER) Oh.
And Robert Haydon shot himself in the throat in front of his final unfinished work because he'd failed to become famous enough.
Ah Rothko slit his wrists.
I've never been a passionate man, have I? Not passionate, no.
No, you're a thinker.
You think most of the time.
- Not very physical? - No.
- Does that bother you? - Not really.
Not any more.
(CLASSICAL MUSIC) Might as well have parked in Watford.
Ooh, look at you all fancy and cosmopolitan.
Yep, mochaccino and pain aux raisins.
- Totty's shout.
- Don't worry.
- We knew you couldn't do without your grease quota.
- Thank you.
Here's a nice cup of Rosie and two bacon sarnies with lots of brown rocking horse.
Lovely.
I'm very jealous.
You're so lucky, I wish I could eat fried bacon every day.
Just the smell of it, mmm! So, why are we here? Got DNA samples from both pictures.
Perfect match to each other.
The same artist painted both fakes.
Does DNA give us any names or records? No.
No identification available.
Well, what about radiology and uh that other thing? Gave us paint dating.
Approximate year of manufacture, 1978.
Nothing else? I thought you had a name? I do.
Fingerprints.
(TOTTY) Oh! Ha-ha-ha! Yeah, fingerprints.
Good call, Totty.
Thumbprints, to be precise.
Name.
Ciaran Risk, artist.
Born 1951, Wimbledon.
St Peter's Grammar School, '62-'69.
Royal College of Art, '72-'75.
Graduated with a diploma in fine art and painting.
What's his form? Arrested for staging an art protest in the National Gallery in 1974, when he threw red paint over 14 priceless works of art.
So right, we've got a trained painter, an amateur terrorist and a defiler of public works of art.
And finally, died 1979.
Died? Committed suicide.
A year after painting the fakes, drank half a litre of paraquat.
- So what are we doing here? - His mum.
Some people are born survivors.
They're programmed to fight, not to feel.
Ciaran felt everything.
Thought too much about things that didn't matter.
Made him weak.
All his emotions were on the outside.
Wore his heart on his sleeve kind of thing? No protection from his feelings? Everything affected him deeply.
- That's why he was an artist.
- Yes.
That's it.
What pushed him over the edge? A fire in his studio.
Destroyed his work, it melted the flesh on his chest and hands.
He tried to beat the flames out with his hands.
- The fire didn't kill him, though? - Oh yes, it did.
He was dead long before he killed himself.
Cheer me up, Jack.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing I like about today.
Well, Clark and I have some good news.
We found the location of your artist's fire.
A dilapidated warehouse in Shoreditch.
Half artists' studios, half rag trade sweatshops.
We have victims, a fire officer's report and hospital records.
We even have suspects, motives and accusations of arson.
- Excellent.
- Almost like a proper case.
- Fantastic.
- I hope that cheers you up.
- Yes, thank you.
- Good.
Cause here's the bad news.
Bevan wants to see you in his office now.
- If this is about his bloody blanket - Blanket? Ah, Sandra! We were waiting for you in my office, but thought we'd might catch you quicker down here.
Trying to keep Sir Timothy well within the circle of knowledge.
Not a good moment? Er sorry, it's fine.
- Lovely to see you.
- Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
Sticky.
Raspberry, mmm.
Mind if I leave you in Superintendent Pullman's capable hands while I? Please go, I'll be fine.
Capable and sticky.
- Uh, do you want to? - I've got something to show you.
Oh, God! Not another fake? No.
So what's wrong with this one, then? Nothing that I know of.
So? So do you like it? Um yeah, I suppose.
Yeah, it's nice.
Um Right.
Okay, come and stand here.
It's not the best light, but uh focus on the centre of the painting.
Then slowly, slowly, let your eyes move outwards, taking in the canvas to the very edge.
Now, let it go back again to the centre slowly.
(DISTANT CRACKLE OF FIREWORKS) And breathe.
Now do you like it? It's beautiful.
Good.
- And would you like it? - What? Mr Bevan's um idea.
Well, it seemed ridiculous when part and parcel of the Queen's collection.
We loan out works to public places, so that the collection can be more widely enjoyed.
Well, I don't know why, but no one's ever thought of loaning to Scotland Yard before.
Oh.
Mr Bevan has chosen a very charming Alfred Cox for his office.
I just thought Yeah.
Thank you.
It's lovely.
Good.
I'll I'll leave you two to get to know each other.
Ooh, Sir Timothy? - Tim.
- Do you know, or have you heard of, an artist called Ciaran Risk? - Risk? - Yeah.
No.
- Sorry.
- Okay.
- Enjoy.
- Thank you.
(DISTANT WHIZZING AND POPPING) (BRIAN) The heat was so intense, it caused the tissue on his arms, neck and chest to bubble up.
- (TOTTY) Never painted again? - Hands were useless.
- Lung tissue permanently scorched.
- You said arson.
Accusations of arson.
Next door to Risk's studio was a sweatshop run by a Kurdish entrepreneur, basically illegal.
Three teenage Bengali girls were admitted to the Royal London Hospital at Whitechapel the same night, all with extensive burns to the upper body and hands.
- Same fire? - Almost definitely.
Almost? They discharged themselves the same night.
- Have we names? - Sort of.
Looking at the spelling in the case file, I'd say it was mostly guesswork.
So how does this explain the theory of arson? The fire officer's report was inconclusive to say the least.
Inflammable substances were found at the scene.
All normally found in an artist's studio.
Oil-based paints, white spirit, turpentine.
Which all contributed to the intensity of the blaze, but no actual cause was determined.
Although, according to local police reports, prior to the blaze, there were no less than six racially motivated disturbances in the area.
- Now - Hold on, Jack.
Hold on.
Are you saying the fire that injured the forger could be the result of a racist attack on the sweatshop next door? Maybe somebody just wanted the forger dead.
It's a bit far-fetched, isn't it? Arson murder.
Make for a more interesting case than art fraud.
No offence meant.
What racist gangs were operating in the East End during the 1970s? Take your pick.
Clark? National Front were busy, but small-scale bombing wasn't their style.
The Halt Immigration Now campaign leased premises in Commercial Street.
Page 9, column 88, they raided a bakery in Hackney.
Even the Ku Klux Klan held meetings in Hoxton Square.
The Ku Klux Klan? You're having a laugh, aren't you? No.
I studied British neofascists at university.
It's a very interesting subject.
Yeah, but Ku Klux Klan, that's a joke, right? First Klan visits from America took place in the '60s.
- Really? - Set up klaverns all around the Midlands.
Klan even held a rally in Cable Street, half a mile from the warehouse.
Well, we've got our Neo-Nazi expert.
Now all we need is a racist.
The property of yellow affects us like the shrill sound of a trumpet or the sound of a high-pitched fanfare.
Don't go on about the car, all right? Although Kandinsky claimed that yellow carries with it the nature of brightness, with a serene, gay and softly exciting character.
Oi! Are you coming? Odd choice for a car, though.
(TRADER) Three pound of banana only a pound! I give you a pound for three pound of bananas.
Three pound, Tubby ol' sweetheart.
Three for cash.
- Lovely.
- Hello Tubby.
What is it you want? I thought you hated all foreigners? Ah, only the ones who live around here.
Hardly local produce, is it? Just because I hate them doesn't mean I don't want to sell 'em veg.
Oi! Tubby's been involved in racist discrimination since the year dot.
Family tradition.
My grandfather marched with Mosley's blackshirts.
You must be so proud.
Listen, in the late '70s, who was throwing petrol bombs at sweatshops? Hardly anyone, sadly.
Column 88, White Defence League, load of skinheads.
Couldn't trust you to tie your own shoelaces.
There was a warehouse in Bacon Street, right next to the railway arches.
- Is it full of artists? - That's the one, yeah.
There's a big fire there in '78, it was claimed it was a racial attack.
Three Bengali seamstresses were injured in the fire.
Well, I never knew about it.
Who claimed responsibility? - No one.
- Well, wasn't a racial attack then, was it? How did you work that out? If a group set a fire in the 70's, they'd be bloody sure to claim responsibility, get membership, get support.
It's all about profile.
Christ, a successful firebombing? If we'd have known about it, we'd have claimed it.
What do you want, sweetheart? You're a repulsive little shit, you do know that, don't you? Three pound of banana only a pound.
Three pound for a pound.
Who'll give me a pound for three pound of bananas, come on let's have ya.
How did Clark find the address? The ghetto theory principle.
- Which is? - Half a mile or half a world.
live in an Asian community, usually within half a mile of where they first settled, secure in their mono-cultural society.
- The ghetto.
- Precisely.
So, what's the half a world? Stay within half a mile or they go home.
Not much in between.
Whoa! I've always wanted to do that! Here.
Come here.
- Whoa! - Vive la revolution! Can I chuck another one in a minute? That's the trouble with petrol bombs.
They're very showy, very exciting - But? - Totally crap at starting a decent fire.
The petrol's too refined.
It burns off too quickly.
You get no surface penetration.
Yeah, but you could start a fire with one, couldn't you? Sure, if you get lucky and hit some good combustible material like paper or dry timber.
Or cloth? Oh, cloth would be good, but really to get a big blaze in a warehouse, you'd want your ignition site deep inside.
How much evidence would you keep from a fire like this one? I can go and check.
- Yeah, cheers.
- Thanks.
(SPEAKS BENGALI) My mother says she and her sisters were frightened.
They thought people would come into the hospital and hurt them.
- What people? - White men.
Did she hear any disturbance outside in the street? Any noise, shouting, breaking glass? (TRANSLATES) The fire wasn't from the side to the street.
It was in the corner where the cloth was kept.
The windows had metal bars and the door was bolted in case of men trying to steal.
What happened to her sisters? My aunt died many years ago.
She was always sick after the fire.
Would it be possible to see your mother's face, to see where the fire hurt her? - If it's too - You can see her face but he can't.
Only my father is allowed.
There is a bag of stuff in Enfield.
Like? Sifted remains from the flash site.
All the usual, melted plastic, melted rubber, rodent remains, charred asbestos Rodent remains? Yeah, rats and mice always get killed in these fires.
Oh, they try and run from the flames, but not always in the right direction.
What sort of rat? A dead rat.
We don't get to see much beauty in our job, do we? I don't know.
Eye of the beholder.
If we worked as farmers or gardeners, Christ, even hairdressers, part of our job would be beautiful.
Every day, or most days, we would see something that was just beautiful.
I didn't join for the view.
No I know, but doesn't it worry you? Too late.
You'd think though, wouldn't you, that being exposed to all the ugliness would make us appreciative of the beautiful things.
We'd go to exhibitions or concerts or grow amazing wild orchids.
- Write poetry and collect butterflies.
- Yeah, but we don't, do we? We don't balance the ugly with the beautiful.
We just accept, don't we? Ugly's safe.
You know where you are with ugly.
We're investigating the fire and currently trying to trace the gallery owner who sold the fake.
(SIR TMOTHY) Excellent.
But we're no nearer finding the original painting.
I appreciate the update.
You're working so hard.
I wondered if you're doing anything tomorrow evening.
Yeah, yeah so how does the Jeep compare to the McLaren price-wise? - He buying another new car? - Baby buggy.
Is this like the initiative thing? - Initiative? - Loaning paintings? Good PR.
Oh, absolutely not.
No, this is me asking you if you'd like to go the opera tomorrow night.
(GERRY) For cash? - The opera? - Gawd help single mums, eh? Yeah, you're doing everyone a favour.
Thanks a lot.
This is unbelievable.
They haven't even got an engine.
- Christ! - Don't worry, it's stuffed.
Rattus Norvegicus.
The common brown rat.
Estimated population in London, 12 million.
Blamed for everything from bubonic plague to Weil's disease and a 24-hour power cut in Hammersmith.
Brian, how many times? Also Rattus Norvegicus, but genetically and physiologically different.
You see, your white rat is line-bred, the albino quality the result of a homozygous recessive gene.
They are the same, but different just like a dog is the same but different from a wolf.
So? An educated guesstimate of albino rats in London would be 200,000 tops.
All of which, or nearly all of which, are in captivity.
Laboratories, pet shops, small boys' bedrooms.
The chances of finding a white rat in a warehouse fire in East London are very very small.
So what sort was in the evidence bag? - White rat? - Yes.
- Really? - No doubt.
- Amazing.
- Wow! Brian, what does the white rat tell us? - Pat.
- Pat? Pat.
- Pat! - Pat the Rat.
(MAN) I blame Edward Heath.
(GERRY) Oh, he made you dip rats in petrol and set fire to them, did he? The three-day week, the Common Market, the whole economic downturn of the '70s opened the floodgates.
Ah, just another victim of the recession, eh? Bent bosses were queuing up to hire my services.
Dipping rats in petrol, torching warehouses, so the owners could claim on the insurance.
No way.
Dip a rat in petrol, it burns too quick.
Big mistake.
Petroleum jelly, that's the key.
Smear it all over, rub it down into the fur.
Burn for ages.
There was a warehouse fire in Bacon Street I should have patented my invention.
After the fire, there was no evidence, just a couple of burnt rat bones.
So, the Bacon Street warehouse in 1978? - Soft toilet paper.
- What? You're gonna tell me what you can do for me if I cooperate.
Yeah? Every copper comes in here to offer me a deal to grass up me clients.
Always tell me the things they can do for me.
Sure, soft toilet paper should be simple enough.
They always offer me the same deal, and I always say the same thing.
- Which is? - Go and screw yourself and shut the door on your way out.
Pat's old school, see.
Code of ethics.
Do the crime, do the time.
Keep shtum and all coppers are bastards.
- Ain't that right, Pat? - You said it.
Four people were seriously injured in that fire.
And two have died since because of their injuries.
Wasn't one of my fires, then.
White rat, electrical conduit, ailing business.
- Certainly looks like one of your jobs.
- Bacon Street? Nah, not me.
Promise.
That's a promise I'll really cherish.
You ask me about a job I've done, I'll tell you nothing.
Ask me about a job I didn't do, I'll tell you whatever I can.
Reckoned somebody copied your MO, then? Should have patented it.
Imitation is theft of my intellectual property.
What we need is a list of all your clients, let's say the last thirty years There's no way I can give out that sort of information without the gallery owner's permission.
Can you contact her? Only in an emergency.
We really need your list.
We're investigating a series of forgeries, trying to establish galleries which dealt with one particular collector.
How about I call our friends, the Inland Revenue for an emergency tax audit? Customs and Excise for an emergency VAT inspection.
Or er I don't know, say the RSPCA for endangered species check? Would that be emergency enough for you? We're trying to track down a particular collector, so what we need is a comprehensive list of all your clients going back over 30 years.
(MAN) It will take a few minutes to print out the complete list, but (OPERA PLAYING) (BRAYS SUDDENLY) Have I missed something? Or was there a day when all art became so grotesque? I thought it was supposed to be soothing.
Art has a duty to be provocative, not just pretty.
I don't want to be provoked.
Ordinary life is provoking enough, thank you very much.
You'd never think she was a big art collector, would you? Hidden depths, eh? What about Duncan Hardy? He's on practically all of them.
He was once a busy buyer.
Doesn't tell us anything really, does it? What about this? If you're looking for a dodgy businessman who knew Pat the Rat, he'd fit the bill.
The late George Wilson.
May God barbeque his soul.
Who's Wilson? Has er Gerry seen this? What's it got to do with Gerry? I think you'd better talk to Bevan.
Bevan? At this moment, I want Standing off this investigation.
- Off? - I don't want him advised of this development.
- I want him out of the loop completely.
- Why? He can't be trusted, not on anything connected with George Wilson.
Send him home.
(TOTTY) There we go.
Abstract expressionists.
Well? I don't get what it's meant to be.
Well I can't see anything.
Brian, remember.
Less head, more heart.
It's not what you see, it's what you feel.
- Hungry.
- No! Despair.
Terrible, awful despair.
Good.
Very good.
Totty, out.
Brian, don't make me ask.
George Wilson.
- A career criminal with an IQ of 144.
- Bevan? Well, in the early '90s, Wilson was the closest thing we had to a trophy.
Everyone wanted to nail his head above their desk and bask in the glory, especially Bevan.
Bevan thought he had him? He did have him.
Two lock-up garages in Stratford full of funny money from Holland.
For four weeks they staked out these lock-ups without anyone coming near.
Four weeks, three shifts a day, Gerry in charge of B shift.
In charge the day they collected the money.
This is rubbish.
There was no collar! Bevan had us staked out on a ground floor council flat, opposite the garages.
Bloody stupid position.
Everyone knew what we were doing.
Wilson knew every move we made.
Anyway, we heard this screaming, I mean really horrible screaming, from the flat next door, so we broke in.
We found a girl, she couldn't have been more than fourteen.
Bruised, cut, claimed she'd been raped.
Blood was coming out of her ear, so I I took her back to where she lived and waited for the ambulance.
- You left the garage unwatched? - No.
Bailey was supposed to be covering, but he snuck off, didn't he? The money went AWOL.
Bevan blamed you? Well I knew Wilson.
What do you mean, you knew him? I had a greyhound, no actually, I had a couple at that time.
And they were being schooled by a trainer in Epping.
Wilson kept some dogs there as well so I met him.
Every now and again, owners' day at the track or something, but that was it.
That arsehole Bevan accused me of taking a bundle from Wilson.
Then he accused me of setting the girl up and slapping her around myself.
So I hit him.
Of course, he charged me.
I was scheduled for disciplinary proceedings.
So why didn't you fight the case if you were innocent? I wasn't innocent.
I'd punched a senior officer.
Bevan's jaw was wired for weeks.
But you didn't take Wilson's bung? You think I would? No.
Look, Bevan wants you off this case.
Bevan wants me off UCOS.
What do you want? Just stay away until it's all sorted.
Ah what, and I come back to the office when the case is all done and dusted and do what? A bit of filing? Make the tea? For God sake, I am sticking my neck out as it is.
Bevan knows I'm here telling you all this, there won't even be any UCOS.
Now I'm supposed to be grateful! No, what you're supposed to do is take your big fat macho pride, stick it in a box and shut up! What am I gonna do? Well, you're just suspended, you're still on salary.
So, do whatever it is you used to do, only now you get paid for it.
(WOMAN) # He said, ''Put down your troubles" ''And take these keys I'm offering you" ''Unlock the door and finally be free'' You hear my words but you don't heed them So, the dealer who sold the fake paintings and the artist who painted them both had fatal accidents within days of each other? The man who borrowed the painting, Sir Stephen, is dead.
The artist who painted the fake is dead.
The dealer who sold the fake is dead.
One buyer, Hardy, is dead.
George Wilson is dead.
Do you ever have cases where the suspects are still alive? The fire wasn't racist, it was meant for Risk.
I wouldn't worry about him.
No, he'll be having a great time.
Down the boozer.
In the bookie's.
Getting paid.
He isn't pining for some crappy case of forged paintings.
(TOTTY) Stolen paintings are great business for forgers.
It's the thrill of owning something famous.
If someone buys a known stolen painting and it turns out to be fake stolen painting, they hardly going to complain to the police.
So there's all these guys getting a sickness of a thrill.
They don't even know all they've got is a fake.
What are they gonna do if they did? These aren't scary tough guys.
George Wilson was.
- Thank you.
You not having one? - No.
- Do you paint? - No.
Well, why would a young guy want to paint pictures? It was his father.
- Oh, he was a painter? - No.
Just a complete bastard.
I see.
And that made Ciaran What do you want? Well, I just wanted to see some of Ciaran's art.
- You know, get some feel of who he was, soak up - No, you don't.
No, I don't.
I think someone tried to hurt him, maybe even kill him.
I want to catch them.
Why? Because you care about Ciaran? Because you care about art? Because you want to help a mother through her grief? No, none of those.
It's what I do.
I catch villains.
I like catching villains.
It makes me feel good.
This was his graduation show from the Royal College of Art.
Oh, I see.
We had drinks and a buffet at the marquee by the Albert Memorial.
Very classy.
Yes, interesting.
So everybody in this book was .
.
in the same year? (MUSIC FROM BIZET'S ''CARMEN'') It's one of my palace perks.
These rooms are kept for visiting dignitaries, to entertain after the opera.
And this cognac is older than America.
Just let it breathe first.
Then you breathe in its aroma.
That sip has waited patiently for hundreds of years, maturing, improving waiting just to meet your tongue and dazzle it.
It's dazzled.
Look here.
This was kept in a monastery near Florence.
Pilgrims would travel hundreds of miles just to gaze on the face of the Madonna.
Often they would then faint at the sight of her beauty.
To be so afflicted by the sight of beauty, to die in its presence is a great honour.
You are so lucky to live a life that revolves around such beautiful things.
Yes, I am.
But I don't just see beauty in art.
Why did you lie about knowing Ciaran Risk? You shared a diploma show with him at the Royal College of Art.
You studied together for four years.
There are tiny moments in everyone's life, precise, poignant moments, when everything crystallises crackles with tension.
When you know that the next words out of your mouth will determine all manner of things.
The future.
This is one of those moments, isn't it? What I did was harmless, just creative counterfeits.
It's only art.
Just bits of canvas, splashes of paint.
It's just ego, convention, snobbery.
It's all a silly game.
Not to George Wilson.
He was a thug.
He didn't understand the game.
He took it way too seriously.
And people died.
Yes, they did.
- But I - I really enjoyed tonight.
- Oh good, so did I.
You - The opera was wonderful.
I I was lost, away, transported to to another time, another place, even.
Excellent.
You deserve Now, I'm sorry.
Oh, please.
Please don't say you're going home.
No, I'm not going.
Good.
I'm going to arrest you.
So, softly, softly.
Exactly.
We talked about a blanket.
Tucking in the corners.
No dirty laundry hanging out to dry.
Sir Timothy claimed that Sir Stephen had been borrowing the Queen's pictures, faking them and then flogging the fakes as stolen art.
But Sir Stephen didn't fake the pictures.
Good.
Sir Timothy did.
The fakes were painted by a known activist and sold to collectors through an exceedingly reputable and thoroughly bent gallery in Mayfair.
- Ah.
- The borrowing soon stopped.
- Yes.
- Because Sir Timothy was forced to steal one, permanently, on account of being terrified that one of the duped clients was going to chop him into tiny pieces.
George Wilson.
Ring a bell? Wilson, realising his painting was dodgy, had the gallery owner mowed down and burned the hands of the artist who painted the fakes.
Sir Timothy was the next on the hit list, unless he could replace the fake stolen painting with the real stolen painting, which of course, he eagerly did.
So, so far, we've got theft, fraud, arson, attempted murder - Twice.
- Then there's lying to the police.
Attempting to pervert the course of justice.
Misappropriation of funds.
Theft of national assets.
Tampering with evidence.
Treason? Oh, and George Wilson's widow has still probably got a few million quid's worth of Her Majesty's art collection hanging over her fireplace.
Anyway, it's all in there.
Painting looks nice.
That's the thing about art, isn't it.
- It's so - Restful.
- Refreshing.
- Emotional.
Uplifting.
(LAUGHTER) Well, I've got to go.
Bye-bye.
See you around, Totty.
Bye, love.
Thank you so much.
I learnt such a lot working with you.
Come here.
Look, I just want to say I'm really sorry.
About, you know, at first being so negative - Oh no, no, no, you were great.
- It's this whole art thing, it's like No, seriously.
Really.
I'm your biggest fan.
Take care, Totty.
- Bye-bye.
- Bye.
Bye.
Ta-ta, Tots.
Look after yourself.
- Take care.
Bye.
- (EVERYONE) Bye.
Good bird, eh? Same again? (JACK) Wouldn't say no.
Same again.
I am so proud of you.
What? For finding the link between Risk? No, no.
I'm proud of you for what you've done.
Growing up a bit and selling your car.
Jack told me about the money situation and the buggy.
Oh, did he? I think it's terrific that you sacrificed something you care a lot about.
You're gonna spend it all on your grandchild.
Well, I didn't spend it all on the buggy.
Well, whatever, it's still a very mature I put most of it on the 12 horse.
Three Valleys.
Bit of an outsider, but if it comes in whootie! You've done what?! He's only gone and stuck it all on a horse.
He's what? What, now? (BRIAN) Now he's on his way.
The other one's going out.
(JACK) There's a chance here, I tell ya.
- Come on! - Good, nice! - Move on, my son! Well, it's all right Even if you're old and grey, yeah Well, it's all right Still you got something to say Well, it's all right Even if they say you're wrong Well, it's all right Sometimes you gotta be strong Maybe somewhere down the road a way You'll think of me and wonder where I am Maybe somewhere down the road,,,
Look, registered with the Stag owners' club.
British steel, British upholstery, British craftsmanship.
It's the last of the great British cars, this.
Oh, look, look smell that leather.
Go on, smell it.
(MOBILE PHONE RINGS) Morning.
Where are you? I'm on my way in now, won't be long.
- What're you wearing? - Pardon? What are you wearing? Well, today I'm wearing boxers.
Blue cotton.
They're quite clingy, too.
When I move, they actually ride Have you got a tie? Hmm? Want to tie me up, do you? - You want to restrain - (HANGS UP) Just the boss.
Well, it's all right Even if you're old and grey, yeah Well, it's all right You still got something to say Well, it's all right Even if they say you're wrong Well, it's all right Sometimes you gotta be strong Hmm.
What else have you got? How about a red one to match his eyes? Oh, come on.
Is that all right? No.
Brian, have a look at this.
''When I became a man, I put away childish things.
'' Looks like Gerry's got a new car.
(CHUCKLING) (LAUGHTER) (GERRY) Okay, retired maybe, but we're still officers of the law.
(BRIAN) Investigating officers.
(JACK) Professionals.
(GERRY) I don't care how posh or precious someone is, there's nobody warrants us getting all done up like this.
It shouldn't matter a toss what we wear.
I mean, no one's that important.
(SANDRA) Will you lot shut up? (BRIAN) We are more than what we wear.
(GERRY) Oh, my gawd! (JACK) Should have worn your cashmere.
(GERRY) I can't believe this.
The first day I don't wear a suit.
- (BRIAN) You like the tie, though? - No, I don't! (BRIAN) I don't get it.
(JACK) What? Art? Naked women.
The naked female body.
See it everywhere.
Art galleries, advertising, films, magazines.
It's all just naked women's bodies.
Yeah? I've never understood the appeal.
Oh, it's fundamental, ain't it? It's sort of evolutionary.
I just see a wild animal with no fur.
Well, here we go.
Posh alert.
and my wife and I really enjoyed your - Prat alert.
Sir Timothy.
What first made you suspect that one of the queen's painting might be a fake? Oh, I I can't take the glory myself.
No, sadly, I'd make a hopeless detective.
No, it was er, it was one of my hawk-eyed, conscientious restorers.
- Part of my crack team.
- (BEVAN CHUCKLES) Let me introduce you.
Jack Halford.
- How do you do? - Gerry Standing.
- Hiya.
- Hello.
- Brian Lane.
- Hi.
- Hello.
- Your crack team.
(BEVAN CHUCKLES) I see you're looking at Draper's ''Gates Of Dawn''.
- Do you enjoy? - Oh, lovely.
- Yeah, it's nice.
- Different.
It's uh, such a tease.
The subject invites one to be academic, to be grandiose, but the paint the flesh, the naked, erotic sensuality stirs sensations far from the intellect.
When one looks at it, one is aroused, and yet one feels guilty.
Suppose to be intellectually stimulating.
That's all very Catholic, I'm afraid.
Sex, the great leveller.
Shall we? Lead on to our vaults of treasures.
Gentlemen.
Um pardon me for being forward, but er you have a speck of something, your cheek.
Okay? All gone.
Perfect.
Thank you.
So you weren't aware at the time that a copy of this painting was being put up for auction? No.
Even if we had, we would have assumed the auctioned painting was a forgery copy (JACK) Which it was.
because we thought we had the original.
Which you don't.
No.
So it would seem.
This is a fake.
So we need to trace the original and return it to the Palace.
That's where UCOS comes in.
With all due respect sir, this is Art Fraud Squad territory.
- We have no expertise in this field.
- Ah! Never underestimate your skills.
There are two main reasons why this is a UCOS inquiry, not Art Fraud.
First is the hypersensitive nature of the inquiry Which means they can trust us to keep our mouths shut whereas Art Fraud are all yap, yap, yap.
And the second reason "I'm a self-serving, arse-kissing little creep.
'' Did you say something? It's by De Creep.
And the second reason The second reason is somewhat embarrassing.
I share it with you in confidence.
My predecessor, Sir Stephen, was a trusted and loyal servant of Her Majesty, and a brilliant art historian and, for me, something of a mentor .
.
but unfortunately he was also As bent as a box of bedsprings, flogging off national treasures and replacing them with fakes.
How many are gone? Officially, only this one.
Do we believe them? Do we care? Well, how much is it worth? Auction estimate 1.
5 million.
Cor! So, we've got two fakes and no sign of the original.
Could run DNA tests on the fakes.
(JACK) DNA? See if we can get a match, find the forger.
- No, this is paint, not blood.
- Spittle.
On the fine detail work, they lick the brushes.
Worth a try.
Mr.
Halford.
The auction house who handled the fake is calling you back on line one.
- Thank you.
- I'll put them through.
Thank you.
- Hello? - Forensics? Brian Lane I don't supposed you even noticed eye shadow plastered across my face, did you? Look, this isn't for us.
This is for Art Fraud and all the Fenellas and the double-barrelled old school brigade.
Don't worry.
We'll do a sweep of the available evidence to see if we can identify the forger and then if it's all dead ends, we'll report to Bevan and move on.
Good.
I'd like a proper case.
So you wouldn't be interested in meeting a Mrs Christine Hardy? Forty-five, living in Primrose Hill, sitting on a priceless art collection belonging to her late husband.
A Mr.
Duncan Hardy.
Her late husband? I'll come with you, Gerry.
No, that's all right.
Come on.
Your car or mine? Ah, we uh yeah, yours.
Thought you didn't like being driven by a woman.
I don't.
Thought it made you feel ''like a proper nonce''.
Yeah, well it's never too late to change your ways, is it? So, where's the Stag then? Garage.
Getting work done? Yeah, sort of.
Panda just on loan, then? I don't know yet.
Don't know? - Can you unlock it or what? - (BEEPING) Duncan was like a squirrel with a pile of nuts.
He doesn't want to eat them, he doesn't need them, but he can't bear the thought of another squirrel getting hold of them.
So he hides them secretively.
It's a man thing.
We don't do it, do we? I don't think so, no.
Do you uh, do you collect anything? Lame dogs.
It's all about acquisition and power.
See that little squirrel likes to check his nuts now and again, have a quick gloat and cover them up again.
But what happens if the squirrel suddenly dies? Well, he can't take them with him.
Course we totally accept that you didn't realise your husband's painting was a fake when you put it up for auction, but do you know where he got it from? Well, he was always buying, I knew mostly at you know, auction or Mayfair galleries.
Did he know it was a fake? I doubt it.
God, I'd love to tell him, just to see his face.
Had you seen the painting before? Oh, I think he'd hung it in one of his offices for a while.
He had more than one office? Duncan had a lot of things which he didn't feel he need to share with me.
- Like? - Two apartments in Barcelona and Nice, a £12,000 engagement ring, recently commissioned for a finger much, much slimmer than mine.
And even four batches of frozen sperm in a clinic in Gibraltar.
That'd be his nuts.
A cloak of secrecy.
I want it lowered down over this whole thing like a blanket.
Secrecy blanket.
Tucked in round the edges so that nothing escapes.
Hospital corners.
I want none of your leads or evidence leaking out from under the blanket.
- That won't be a problem - No one outside your unit .
.
because we haven't got any.
The fine art world can be famously opaque.
I'm sorry, but I I think this falls a fair way outside our field of expertise.
All right.
Don't apologise.
Expecting you just to take this on was a big ask, a very big ask.
Oh, well.
No harm done.
Which is why I've arranged to import expertise.
It's part of a new model of the interdepartmental asset mobility.
- Sorry? - So you get Totty.
- Totty? - Totty.
Totty Vogel-Downing.
(SANDRA) Totty's not your real name? Oh Charlotte, but I've been Totty for ever.
I'll bet.
Totty's been seconded to UCOS from Art Fraud, which means that the investigation is going to continue, only now we have expert help.
- Hi! - So, rounding up all your expert knowledge, what can you tell us about these? His mother had just died.
He moved away from the family estate into a into a sort of self-inflicted exile, choosing the Lake District mainly because of its topographical drama.
- He wasn't happy.
- Who? Stratfold.
The artist.
He was depressed.
(JACK) Here.
Hold on, hold on.
I'm being a bit thick here.
You're looking at two Sexton Blakes and you're telling us that the real artist, the original artist, who didn't paint these because they're fakes, how he was feeling? - Very depressed.
- Er what.
How does that help? - (SANDRA) Not exactly relevant.
- Oh yes, potentially And these are not very good.
And? When you copy an artist's work, you don't choose to copy his worst work.
Unless - Unless? - You're told to.
Paid to.
Unless the work is conveniently available to study in intimate detail, - not hunged in a public gallery.
- So the forger was? Someone who had access.
Probably someone Sir Stephen knew well.
Obviously you've ordered ultrasound and radiographic testing.
- We are running some DNA tests.
- (SANDRA) Spittle.
- Very good.
What about fingerprints? - Um Well, normally, we try to be a little more innovative.
This is a thumbprint.
- Ah, yes.
- See? This smudge, and so is this.
Identical position, identical size.
May've been done like that because the original had a smudge exactly like this, so it's part of the faking process.
And? Well, how would an artist make a thumbprint that look like a thumbprint? - Er - Use his thumb? (GERRY) Is that the dry-cleaner's you want? (JACK) Uh, I didn't really want a lift to the dry-cleaner's.
- But you said - I'm not really a dry-cleaning person.
I'm more your machine-wash type, really.
It's more economical, less chemicals, better for the environment.
What are you talking about? Well, I just thought if I asked you to give me a lift somewhere in your new car, you might, somewhere along the way, be tempted to tell me why you've got a new car, and, ergo, what's happened to the old one.
I sold it.
Yes? Well, it's uh Well, what with me about to become a grandfather, and Paula about to become a single mum, there's gonna be things she needs, so er well I've got a bit of cash-flow problem.
I mean, you know those three-wheeled buggy things, do you know how much they cost? Isn't that what they invented credit cards for? Yeah, well, I'm not allowed one.
I was Declared bankrupt.
- Bankrupt, you're not allowed - Not allowed one, yeah.
Go on, then.
Well, my car's back at the office.
Simply Red, The Corrs, The Corrs Ah! (ARIA FROM PUCCINI'S ''MADAME BUTTERFLY'') (SNORES) What are you reading? Oh, very nice.
Nice to see you reading something that's not an autopsy report or some evidence of how somebody died some horrible death.
Van Gogh chopped his ear off with a bread knife.
Chopped it off and took it to a brothel to give to a prostitute.
(ESTHER) Oh.
And Robert Haydon shot himself in the throat in front of his final unfinished work because he'd failed to become famous enough.
Ah Rothko slit his wrists.
I've never been a passionate man, have I? Not passionate, no.
No, you're a thinker.
You think most of the time.
- Not very physical? - No.
- Does that bother you? - Not really.
Not any more.
(CLASSICAL MUSIC) Might as well have parked in Watford.
Ooh, look at you all fancy and cosmopolitan.
Yep, mochaccino and pain aux raisins.
- Totty's shout.
- Don't worry.
- We knew you couldn't do without your grease quota.
- Thank you.
Here's a nice cup of Rosie and two bacon sarnies with lots of brown rocking horse.
Lovely.
I'm very jealous.
You're so lucky, I wish I could eat fried bacon every day.
Just the smell of it, mmm! So, why are we here? Got DNA samples from both pictures.
Perfect match to each other.
The same artist painted both fakes.
Does DNA give us any names or records? No.
No identification available.
Well, what about radiology and uh that other thing? Gave us paint dating.
Approximate year of manufacture, 1978.
Nothing else? I thought you had a name? I do.
Fingerprints.
(TOTTY) Oh! Ha-ha-ha! Yeah, fingerprints.
Good call, Totty.
Thumbprints, to be precise.
Name.
Ciaran Risk, artist.
Born 1951, Wimbledon.
St Peter's Grammar School, '62-'69.
Royal College of Art, '72-'75.
Graduated with a diploma in fine art and painting.
What's his form? Arrested for staging an art protest in the National Gallery in 1974, when he threw red paint over 14 priceless works of art.
So right, we've got a trained painter, an amateur terrorist and a defiler of public works of art.
And finally, died 1979.
Died? Committed suicide.
A year after painting the fakes, drank half a litre of paraquat.
- So what are we doing here? - His mum.
Some people are born survivors.
They're programmed to fight, not to feel.
Ciaran felt everything.
Thought too much about things that didn't matter.
Made him weak.
All his emotions were on the outside.
Wore his heart on his sleeve kind of thing? No protection from his feelings? Everything affected him deeply.
- That's why he was an artist.
- Yes.
That's it.
What pushed him over the edge? A fire in his studio.
Destroyed his work, it melted the flesh on his chest and hands.
He tried to beat the flames out with his hands.
- The fire didn't kill him, though? - Oh yes, it did.
He was dead long before he killed himself.
Cheer me up, Jack.
There is nothing, absolutely nothing I like about today.
Well, Clark and I have some good news.
We found the location of your artist's fire.
A dilapidated warehouse in Shoreditch.
Half artists' studios, half rag trade sweatshops.
We have victims, a fire officer's report and hospital records.
We even have suspects, motives and accusations of arson.
- Excellent.
- Almost like a proper case.
- Fantastic.
- I hope that cheers you up.
- Yes, thank you.
- Good.
Cause here's the bad news.
Bevan wants to see you in his office now.
- If this is about his bloody blanket - Blanket? Ah, Sandra! We were waiting for you in my office, but thought we'd might catch you quicker down here.
Trying to keep Sir Timothy well within the circle of knowledge.
Not a good moment? Er sorry, it's fine.
- Lovely to see you.
- Oh, I'm terribly sorry.
Sticky.
Raspberry, mmm.
Mind if I leave you in Superintendent Pullman's capable hands while I? Please go, I'll be fine.
Capable and sticky.
- Uh, do you want to? - I've got something to show you.
Oh, God! Not another fake? No.
So what's wrong with this one, then? Nothing that I know of.
So? So do you like it? Um yeah, I suppose.
Yeah, it's nice.
Um Right.
Okay, come and stand here.
It's not the best light, but uh focus on the centre of the painting.
Then slowly, slowly, let your eyes move outwards, taking in the canvas to the very edge.
Now, let it go back again to the centre slowly.
(DISTANT CRACKLE OF FIREWORKS) And breathe.
Now do you like it? It's beautiful.
Good.
- And would you like it? - What? Mr Bevan's um idea.
Well, it seemed ridiculous when part and parcel of the Queen's collection.
We loan out works to public places, so that the collection can be more widely enjoyed.
Well, I don't know why, but no one's ever thought of loaning to Scotland Yard before.
Oh.
Mr Bevan has chosen a very charming Alfred Cox for his office.
I just thought Yeah.
Thank you.
It's lovely.
Good.
I'll I'll leave you two to get to know each other.
Ooh, Sir Timothy? - Tim.
- Do you know, or have you heard of, an artist called Ciaran Risk? - Risk? - Yeah.
No.
- Sorry.
- Okay.
- Enjoy.
- Thank you.
(DISTANT WHIZZING AND POPPING) (BRIAN) The heat was so intense, it caused the tissue on his arms, neck and chest to bubble up.
- (TOTTY) Never painted again? - Hands were useless.
- Lung tissue permanently scorched.
- You said arson.
Accusations of arson.
Next door to Risk's studio was a sweatshop run by a Kurdish entrepreneur, basically illegal.
Three teenage Bengali girls were admitted to the Royal London Hospital at Whitechapel the same night, all with extensive burns to the upper body and hands.
- Same fire? - Almost definitely.
Almost? They discharged themselves the same night.
- Have we names? - Sort of.
Looking at the spelling in the case file, I'd say it was mostly guesswork.
So how does this explain the theory of arson? The fire officer's report was inconclusive to say the least.
Inflammable substances were found at the scene.
All normally found in an artist's studio.
Oil-based paints, white spirit, turpentine.
Which all contributed to the intensity of the blaze, but no actual cause was determined.
Although, according to local police reports, prior to the blaze, there were no less than six racially motivated disturbances in the area.
- Now - Hold on, Jack.
Hold on.
Are you saying the fire that injured the forger could be the result of a racist attack on the sweatshop next door? Maybe somebody just wanted the forger dead.
It's a bit far-fetched, isn't it? Arson murder.
Make for a more interesting case than art fraud.
No offence meant.
What racist gangs were operating in the East End during the 1970s? Take your pick.
Clark? National Front were busy, but small-scale bombing wasn't their style.
The Halt Immigration Now campaign leased premises in Commercial Street.
Page 9, column 88, they raided a bakery in Hackney.
Even the Ku Klux Klan held meetings in Hoxton Square.
The Ku Klux Klan? You're having a laugh, aren't you? No.
I studied British neofascists at university.
It's a very interesting subject.
Yeah, but Ku Klux Klan, that's a joke, right? First Klan visits from America took place in the '60s.
- Really? - Set up klaverns all around the Midlands.
Klan even held a rally in Cable Street, half a mile from the warehouse.
Well, we've got our Neo-Nazi expert.
Now all we need is a racist.
The property of yellow affects us like the shrill sound of a trumpet or the sound of a high-pitched fanfare.
Don't go on about the car, all right? Although Kandinsky claimed that yellow carries with it the nature of brightness, with a serene, gay and softly exciting character.
Oi! Are you coming? Odd choice for a car, though.
(TRADER) Three pound of banana only a pound! I give you a pound for three pound of bananas.
Three pound, Tubby ol' sweetheart.
Three for cash.
- Lovely.
- Hello Tubby.
What is it you want? I thought you hated all foreigners? Ah, only the ones who live around here.
Hardly local produce, is it? Just because I hate them doesn't mean I don't want to sell 'em veg.
Oi! Tubby's been involved in racist discrimination since the year dot.
Family tradition.
My grandfather marched with Mosley's blackshirts.
You must be so proud.
Listen, in the late '70s, who was throwing petrol bombs at sweatshops? Hardly anyone, sadly.
Column 88, White Defence League, load of skinheads.
Couldn't trust you to tie your own shoelaces.
There was a warehouse in Bacon Street, right next to the railway arches.
- Is it full of artists? - That's the one, yeah.
There's a big fire there in '78, it was claimed it was a racial attack.
Three Bengali seamstresses were injured in the fire.
Well, I never knew about it.
Who claimed responsibility? - No one.
- Well, wasn't a racial attack then, was it? How did you work that out? If a group set a fire in the 70's, they'd be bloody sure to claim responsibility, get membership, get support.
It's all about profile.
Christ, a successful firebombing? If we'd have known about it, we'd have claimed it.
What do you want, sweetheart? You're a repulsive little shit, you do know that, don't you? Three pound of banana only a pound.
Three pound for a pound.
Who'll give me a pound for three pound of bananas, come on let's have ya.
How did Clark find the address? The ghetto theory principle.
- Which is? - Half a mile or half a world.
live in an Asian community, usually within half a mile of where they first settled, secure in their mono-cultural society.
- The ghetto.
- Precisely.
So, what's the half a world? Stay within half a mile or they go home.
Not much in between.
Whoa! I've always wanted to do that! Here.
Come here.
- Whoa! - Vive la revolution! Can I chuck another one in a minute? That's the trouble with petrol bombs.
They're very showy, very exciting - But? - Totally crap at starting a decent fire.
The petrol's too refined.
It burns off too quickly.
You get no surface penetration.
Yeah, but you could start a fire with one, couldn't you? Sure, if you get lucky and hit some good combustible material like paper or dry timber.
Or cloth? Oh, cloth would be good, but really to get a big blaze in a warehouse, you'd want your ignition site deep inside.
How much evidence would you keep from a fire like this one? I can go and check.
- Yeah, cheers.
- Thanks.
(SPEAKS BENGALI) My mother says she and her sisters were frightened.
They thought people would come into the hospital and hurt them.
- What people? - White men.
Did she hear any disturbance outside in the street? Any noise, shouting, breaking glass? (TRANSLATES) The fire wasn't from the side to the street.
It was in the corner where the cloth was kept.
The windows had metal bars and the door was bolted in case of men trying to steal.
What happened to her sisters? My aunt died many years ago.
She was always sick after the fire.
Would it be possible to see your mother's face, to see where the fire hurt her? - If it's too - You can see her face but he can't.
Only my father is allowed.
There is a bag of stuff in Enfield.
Like? Sifted remains from the flash site.
All the usual, melted plastic, melted rubber, rodent remains, charred asbestos Rodent remains? Yeah, rats and mice always get killed in these fires.
Oh, they try and run from the flames, but not always in the right direction.
What sort of rat? A dead rat.
We don't get to see much beauty in our job, do we? I don't know.
Eye of the beholder.
If we worked as farmers or gardeners, Christ, even hairdressers, part of our job would be beautiful.
Every day, or most days, we would see something that was just beautiful.
I didn't join for the view.
No I know, but doesn't it worry you? Too late.
You'd think though, wouldn't you, that being exposed to all the ugliness would make us appreciative of the beautiful things.
We'd go to exhibitions or concerts or grow amazing wild orchids.
- Write poetry and collect butterflies.
- Yeah, but we don't, do we? We don't balance the ugly with the beautiful.
We just accept, don't we? Ugly's safe.
You know where you are with ugly.
We're investigating the fire and currently trying to trace the gallery owner who sold the fake.
(SIR TMOTHY) Excellent.
But we're no nearer finding the original painting.
I appreciate the update.
You're working so hard.
I wondered if you're doing anything tomorrow evening.
Yeah, yeah so how does the Jeep compare to the McLaren price-wise? - He buying another new car? - Baby buggy.
Is this like the initiative thing? - Initiative? - Loaning paintings? Good PR.
Oh, absolutely not.
No, this is me asking you if you'd like to go the opera tomorrow night.
(GERRY) For cash? - The opera? - Gawd help single mums, eh? Yeah, you're doing everyone a favour.
Thanks a lot.
This is unbelievable.
They haven't even got an engine.
- Christ! - Don't worry, it's stuffed.
Rattus Norvegicus.
The common brown rat.
Estimated population in London, 12 million.
Blamed for everything from bubonic plague to Weil's disease and a 24-hour power cut in Hammersmith.
Brian, how many times? Also Rattus Norvegicus, but genetically and physiologically different.
You see, your white rat is line-bred, the albino quality the result of a homozygous recessive gene.
They are the same, but different just like a dog is the same but different from a wolf.
So? An educated guesstimate of albino rats in London would be 200,000 tops.
All of which, or nearly all of which, are in captivity.
Laboratories, pet shops, small boys' bedrooms.
The chances of finding a white rat in a warehouse fire in East London are very very small.
So what sort was in the evidence bag? - White rat? - Yes.
- Really? - No doubt.
- Amazing.
- Wow! Brian, what does the white rat tell us? - Pat.
- Pat? Pat.
- Pat! - Pat the Rat.
(MAN) I blame Edward Heath.
(GERRY) Oh, he made you dip rats in petrol and set fire to them, did he? The three-day week, the Common Market, the whole economic downturn of the '70s opened the floodgates.
Ah, just another victim of the recession, eh? Bent bosses were queuing up to hire my services.
Dipping rats in petrol, torching warehouses, so the owners could claim on the insurance.
No way.
Dip a rat in petrol, it burns too quick.
Big mistake.
Petroleum jelly, that's the key.
Smear it all over, rub it down into the fur.
Burn for ages.
There was a warehouse fire in Bacon Street I should have patented my invention.
After the fire, there was no evidence, just a couple of burnt rat bones.
So, the Bacon Street warehouse in 1978? - Soft toilet paper.
- What? You're gonna tell me what you can do for me if I cooperate.
Yeah? Every copper comes in here to offer me a deal to grass up me clients.
Always tell me the things they can do for me.
Sure, soft toilet paper should be simple enough.
They always offer me the same deal, and I always say the same thing.
- Which is? - Go and screw yourself and shut the door on your way out.
Pat's old school, see.
Code of ethics.
Do the crime, do the time.
Keep shtum and all coppers are bastards.
- Ain't that right, Pat? - You said it.
Four people were seriously injured in that fire.
And two have died since because of their injuries.
Wasn't one of my fires, then.
White rat, electrical conduit, ailing business.
- Certainly looks like one of your jobs.
- Bacon Street? Nah, not me.
Promise.
That's a promise I'll really cherish.
You ask me about a job I've done, I'll tell you nothing.
Ask me about a job I didn't do, I'll tell you whatever I can.
Reckoned somebody copied your MO, then? Should have patented it.
Imitation is theft of my intellectual property.
What we need is a list of all your clients, let's say the last thirty years There's no way I can give out that sort of information without the gallery owner's permission.
Can you contact her? Only in an emergency.
We really need your list.
We're investigating a series of forgeries, trying to establish galleries which dealt with one particular collector.
How about I call our friends, the Inland Revenue for an emergency tax audit? Customs and Excise for an emergency VAT inspection.
Or er I don't know, say the RSPCA for endangered species check? Would that be emergency enough for you? We're trying to track down a particular collector, so what we need is a comprehensive list of all your clients going back over 30 years.
(MAN) It will take a few minutes to print out the complete list, but (OPERA PLAYING) (BRAYS SUDDENLY) Have I missed something? Or was there a day when all art became so grotesque? I thought it was supposed to be soothing.
Art has a duty to be provocative, not just pretty.
I don't want to be provoked.
Ordinary life is provoking enough, thank you very much.
You'd never think she was a big art collector, would you? Hidden depths, eh? What about Duncan Hardy? He's on practically all of them.
He was once a busy buyer.
Doesn't tell us anything really, does it? What about this? If you're looking for a dodgy businessman who knew Pat the Rat, he'd fit the bill.
The late George Wilson.
May God barbeque his soul.
Who's Wilson? Has er Gerry seen this? What's it got to do with Gerry? I think you'd better talk to Bevan.
Bevan? At this moment, I want Standing off this investigation.
- Off? - I don't want him advised of this development.
- I want him out of the loop completely.
- Why? He can't be trusted, not on anything connected with George Wilson.
Send him home.
(TOTTY) There we go.
Abstract expressionists.
Well? I don't get what it's meant to be.
Well I can't see anything.
Brian, remember.
Less head, more heart.
It's not what you see, it's what you feel.
- Hungry.
- No! Despair.
Terrible, awful despair.
Good.
Very good.
Totty, out.
Brian, don't make me ask.
George Wilson.
- A career criminal with an IQ of 144.
- Bevan? Well, in the early '90s, Wilson was the closest thing we had to a trophy.
Everyone wanted to nail his head above their desk and bask in the glory, especially Bevan.
Bevan thought he had him? He did have him.
Two lock-up garages in Stratford full of funny money from Holland.
For four weeks they staked out these lock-ups without anyone coming near.
Four weeks, three shifts a day, Gerry in charge of B shift.
In charge the day they collected the money.
This is rubbish.
There was no collar! Bevan had us staked out on a ground floor council flat, opposite the garages.
Bloody stupid position.
Everyone knew what we were doing.
Wilson knew every move we made.
Anyway, we heard this screaming, I mean really horrible screaming, from the flat next door, so we broke in.
We found a girl, she couldn't have been more than fourteen.
Bruised, cut, claimed she'd been raped.
Blood was coming out of her ear, so I I took her back to where she lived and waited for the ambulance.
- You left the garage unwatched? - No.
Bailey was supposed to be covering, but he snuck off, didn't he? The money went AWOL.
Bevan blamed you? Well I knew Wilson.
What do you mean, you knew him? I had a greyhound, no actually, I had a couple at that time.
And they were being schooled by a trainer in Epping.
Wilson kept some dogs there as well so I met him.
Every now and again, owners' day at the track or something, but that was it.
That arsehole Bevan accused me of taking a bundle from Wilson.
Then he accused me of setting the girl up and slapping her around myself.
So I hit him.
Of course, he charged me.
I was scheduled for disciplinary proceedings.
So why didn't you fight the case if you were innocent? I wasn't innocent.
I'd punched a senior officer.
Bevan's jaw was wired for weeks.
But you didn't take Wilson's bung? You think I would? No.
Look, Bevan wants you off this case.
Bevan wants me off UCOS.
What do you want? Just stay away until it's all sorted.
Ah what, and I come back to the office when the case is all done and dusted and do what? A bit of filing? Make the tea? For God sake, I am sticking my neck out as it is.
Bevan knows I'm here telling you all this, there won't even be any UCOS.
Now I'm supposed to be grateful! No, what you're supposed to do is take your big fat macho pride, stick it in a box and shut up! What am I gonna do? Well, you're just suspended, you're still on salary.
So, do whatever it is you used to do, only now you get paid for it.
(WOMAN) # He said, ''Put down your troubles" ''And take these keys I'm offering you" ''Unlock the door and finally be free'' You hear my words but you don't heed them So, the dealer who sold the fake paintings and the artist who painted them both had fatal accidents within days of each other? The man who borrowed the painting, Sir Stephen, is dead.
The artist who painted the fake is dead.
The dealer who sold the fake is dead.
One buyer, Hardy, is dead.
George Wilson is dead.
Do you ever have cases where the suspects are still alive? The fire wasn't racist, it was meant for Risk.
I wouldn't worry about him.
No, he'll be having a great time.
Down the boozer.
In the bookie's.
Getting paid.
He isn't pining for some crappy case of forged paintings.
(TOTTY) Stolen paintings are great business for forgers.
It's the thrill of owning something famous.
If someone buys a known stolen painting and it turns out to be fake stolen painting, they hardly going to complain to the police.
So there's all these guys getting a sickness of a thrill.
They don't even know all they've got is a fake.
What are they gonna do if they did? These aren't scary tough guys.
George Wilson was.
- Thank you.
You not having one? - No.
- Do you paint? - No.
Well, why would a young guy want to paint pictures? It was his father.
- Oh, he was a painter? - No.
Just a complete bastard.
I see.
And that made Ciaran What do you want? Well, I just wanted to see some of Ciaran's art.
- You know, get some feel of who he was, soak up - No, you don't.
No, I don't.
I think someone tried to hurt him, maybe even kill him.
I want to catch them.
Why? Because you care about Ciaran? Because you care about art? Because you want to help a mother through her grief? No, none of those.
It's what I do.
I catch villains.
I like catching villains.
It makes me feel good.
This was his graduation show from the Royal College of Art.
Oh, I see.
We had drinks and a buffet at the marquee by the Albert Memorial.
Very classy.
Yes, interesting.
So everybody in this book was .
.
in the same year? (MUSIC FROM BIZET'S ''CARMEN'') It's one of my palace perks.
These rooms are kept for visiting dignitaries, to entertain after the opera.
And this cognac is older than America.
Just let it breathe first.
Then you breathe in its aroma.
That sip has waited patiently for hundreds of years, maturing, improving waiting just to meet your tongue and dazzle it.
It's dazzled.
Look here.
This was kept in a monastery near Florence.
Pilgrims would travel hundreds of miles just to gaze on the face of the Madonna.
Often they would then faint at the sight of her beauty.
To be so afflicted by the sight of beauty, to die in its presence is a great honour.
You are so lucky to live a life that revolves around such beautiful things.
Yes, I am.
But I don't just see beauty in art.
Why did you lie about knowing Ciaran Risk? You shared a diploma show with him at the Royal College of Art.
You studied together for four years.
There are tiny moments in everyone's life, precise, poignant moments, when everything crystallises crackles with tension.
When you know that the next words out of your mouth will determine all manner of things.
The future.
This is one of those moments, isn't it? What I did was harmless, just creative counterfeits.
It's only art.
Just bits of canvas, splashes of paint.
It's just ego, convention, snobbery.
It's all a silly game.
Not to George Wilson.
He was a thug.
He didn't understand the game.
He took it way too seriously.
And people died.
Yes, they did.
- But I - I really enjoyed tonight.
- Oh good, so did I.
You - The opera was wonderful.
I I was lost, away, transported to to another time, another place, even.
Excellent.
You deserve Now, I'm sorry.
Oh, please.
Please don't say you're going home.
No, I'm not going.
Good.
I'm going to arrest you.
So, softly, softly.
Exactly.
We talked about a blanket.
Tucking in the corners.
No dirty laundry hanging out to dry.
Sir Timothy claimed that Sir Stephen had been borrowing the Queen's pictures, faking them and then flogging the fakes as stolen art.
But Sir Stephen didn't fake the pictures.
Good.
Sir Timothy did.
The fakes were painted by a known activist and sold to collectors through an exceedingly reputable and thoroughly bent gallery in Mayfair.
- Ah.
- The borrowing soon stopped.
- Yes.
- Because Sir Timothy was forced to steal one, permanently, on account of being terrified that one of the duped clients was going to chop him into tiny pieces.
George Wilson.
Ring a bell? Wilson, realising his painting was dodgy, had the gallery owner mowed down and burned the hands of the artist who painted the fakes.
Sir Timothy was the next on the hit list, unless he could replace the fake stolen painting with the real stolen painting, which of course, he eagerly did.
So, so far, we've got theft, fraud, arson, attempted murder - Twice.
- Then there's lying to the police.
Attempting to pervert the course of justice.
Misappropriation of funds.
Theft of national assets.
Tampering with evidence.
Treason? Oh, and George Wilson's widow has still probably got a few million quid's worth of Her Majesty's art collection hanging over her fireplace.
Anyway, it's all in there.
Painting looks nice.
That's the thing about art, isn't it.
- It's so - Restful.
- Refreshing.
- Emotional.
Uplifting.
(LAUGHTER) Well, I've got to go.
Bye-bye.
See you around, Totty.
Bye, love.
Thank you so much.
I learnt such a lot working with you.
Come here.
Look, I just want to say I'm really sorry.
About, you know, at first being so negative - Oh no, no, no, you were great.
- It's this whole art thing, it's like No, seriously.
Really.
I'm your biggest fan.
Take care, Totty.
- Bye-bye.
- Bye.
Bye.
Ta-ta, Tots.
Look after yourself.
- Take care.
Bye.
- (EVERYONE) Bye.
Good bird, eh? Same again? (JACK) Wouldn't say no.
Same again.
I am so proud of you.
What? For finding the link between Risk? No, no.
I'm proud of you for what you've done.
Growing up a bit and selling your car.
Jack told me about the money situation and the buggy.
Oh, did he? I think it's terrific that you sacrificed something you care a lot about.
You're gonna spend it all on your grandchild.
Well, I didn't spend it all on the buggy.
Well, whatever, it's still a very mature I put most of it on the 12 horse.
Three Valleys.
Bit of an outsider, but if it comes in whootie! You've done what?! He's only gone and stuck it all on a horse.
He's what? What, now? (BRIAN) Now he's on his way.
The other one's going out.
(JACK) There's a chance here, I tell ya.
- Come on! - Good, nice! - Move on, my son! Well, it's all right Even if you're old and grey, yeah Well, it's all right Still you got something to say Well, it's all right Even if they say you're wrong Well, it's all right Sometimes you gotta be strong Maybe somewhere down the road a way You'll think of me and wonder where I am Maybe somewhere down the road,,,