Midsomer Murders (1997) s04e01 Episode Script
Garden of Death
Paradisea liliastrum.
Penstemon digitalis.
Penstemon strictus.
Ligularia dentata.
Platycodon grandifloris.
Dianthus superbus! Oh, for God's sake! THEME MUSIC Morning, Mrs Inkpen.
Odious little upstart.
CARS HONKING Hey! Come on.
How long you gonna be? This is a plan of the gardens.
We have an absolutely beautiful collection of euphorbias.
But unfortunately no video arcade.
The Inkpens have been here since the Reformation.
They've had long enough to organize a decent car park then, haven't they? Naomi had to sell 25 years ago.
Her husband died, left her penniless.
A stockbroker called Gerald Bennett bought the place.
They're back of course, now, the Inkpens.
Good God, it's 11 quid.
How do you know all this? Desmond, from the village shop.
He delivers our organic meat.
I didn't know we'd gone organic? Hadn't you noticed the difference? No.
You haven't gone to golf then? No, I haven't gone to golf.
Euphorbias, yeah? Very good.
Any chance of a cup of tea? Going for a ride, darling? No, a swim.
Daniel just gave me this.
Apparently you were making some kind of point? About ageing mothers? Well, you know what they say, dear - the old varieties smell the sweetest.
Take those to the ticket office, Hilary, we're nearly out.
These are beautiful.
They're very fashionable at the moment, penstemons.
That one's called White Bedder.
Oh.
Flowers very well right through to autumn.
I haven't seen them before, are they hard to propagate? No, not really, just softwood cuttings from non-flowering shoots.
Do you live locally? Uh, yes, fairly.
Causton.
I'll be doing some of these next week, I could drop you over a few if you like.
What's the name? Uh, Barnaby.
Joyce.
But really it's - No, it's no problem.
They deserve wider appreciation.
What's the address? Parchmore Close.
Number 6.
Parchmore.
Right.
Well, consider it done, Joyce.
See you next week.
Thank you.
Well, how kind.
GUNSHOTS SHOTS CONTINUE (PANICKED COMMOTION) Next time it'll be one of those bitches, so help me.
This is not the wild west, sir.
I'm afraid you are under arrest.
I have had enough! I can hardly be blamed for Rodney Widger's behaviour.
I'm not talking about Widger.
If you must fornicate at least have the dignity not to fight like a pair of polecats over the trousers concerned.
And as for the garden - My garden, Mother.
My garden, and my gardener.
Then face the consequences of your money-grubbing actions.
Yes, well, when it comes to grubbing money - Hilary.
Would you bring me my whiskey and water, please.
And I'll have another G&T.
Mum? No, thank you.
CAR PULLS UP Hello, Dad.
Dad? What's the matter? Desmond.
Hello, Jane.
I've just heard about the memorial.
What on earth are they doing? Elspeth's idea.
The manor garden is getting so popular she decided they need a tearoom.
And that's where she's gonna build it.
But she can't.
It'll break Dad's heart.
You know there's a meeting tonight? BUBBLING Oi, Daniel, give us some.
Go on, you promised.
I told you, no.
You give some to me sister.
How do you know about that? She told me.
She is only 15, his sister.
One bottle.
And don't ride your bikes afterwards.
Mum? Yes, darling.
What's going on? Between you and Fliss? Pay no attention to your sister, dear.
Whatever she says.
Ever.
She's just a bad-tempered little madam.
I sometimes wish I'd given her up for adoption rather than you.
Oh dear, rustics approaching.
Just so that you don't forget, Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Village hall, 7:30.
There's really nowhere else I'd rather be, Desmond.
I'm just delighted to be the cause of so much excitement.
Whoever said the English village was dead? Richard! No driver? No chaplain? You could be a commercial salesman instead of a bishop.
Good evening, Father.
Are you well? Well enough to give those damned Inkpens a bloody nose.
I'll see you later.
Unless you want to come? Uh, where to exactly? Village hall.
The villagers have turned to me.
I'm sorry.
Nice to be a Deverell where a Deverell should be - central to events.
Did you know it was your anniversary today? Two years since you walked into our lives here? Into the bosom of your long lost family.
Yes.
Yes, I did know.
Are you still glad you did? All that time and effort in tracing us.
Have we been what you'd hoped for? I've got no complaints.
How wonderfully magnanimous of you.
I do understand, Fliss.
How it must have been for you when I turned up.
Because there's been a bastard lurking.
You think I'm jealous? Resentful? Do you think I hate you? I don't hate you, I pity you.
Because what you - Are you coming to the meeting? You don't think this is a bit voyeuristic? Not at all, it's a public meeting.
And I'm interested.
I hope you're not planning to speak? No, but I can vote if they ask for a show of hands.
Oh, look who's here.
What? The man with the shotgun.
Uniform must have bailed him.
You never finished what you were saying.
Indoors earlier, you said you pitied me.
Why? Because we have different fathers.
But I know that.
If you were a gentleman, you would move to allow my daughter and I to sit together.
If you were a lady, I shouldn't hesitate.
There are still seats further back, Mrs Inkpen.
Further back? I have not sat further back in my entire life.
Mrs Inkpen's humility is the greatest of the many gifts she has passed to her descendants.
Mother.
Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just call this meeting to order.
The vicar sends his apologies for absence and peaceful blessings to all but we do welcome particularly this evening, Mrs Elspeth Inkpen-Thomas, and thank her for agreeing to take part in what promises to be a lively discussion.
Though I'm quite sure that in the words of the memorial garden itself common sense and tolerance will inform our debate.
Who will speak first? Jane Bennett.
Daughter of Gerald Bennett, who created the memorial garden.
To dig up that beautiful place, which gives pleasure and sense of community to so many and replace it with a commercial teashop is an act of unspeakable vandalism.
ALL: Hear, hear.
And I should just like to ask Mrs Inkpen-Thomas by what right she takes back and destroys what was freely given to this village by my father.
(ALL MUTTER IN AGREEMENT) BIRDS TWITTER APPLAUSE (PEOPLE BOO) Mrs Millard, members of the village committee.
Miss Bennett asks by what right? Well, the simple answer is the right of ownership.
When her father sold Inkpen Manor back to the Inkpens five years ago there were no caveats, no exclusions.
Legally the memorial garden is our property.
(PEOPLE MURMUR) All Mr Bennett did, apart from create it, was to grant right of access to the villagers.
All we are doing is withdrawing that right.
(PEOPLE MURMUR ANGRILY) And frankly what we Inkpens choose to do in that respect is the business of nobody in this hall tonight.
I mean, really, if the village really wants a naff memorial garden (ALL COMPLAIN) .
.
a naff memorial garden let it build one somewhere else.
(PEOPLE CALL OUT ANGRILY) I bet you can't wait to turn this into a teashop, being on Mummy's side in everything.
Was your father particularly nice then, Fliss? Is that what you meant? I know mine's a mystery but yours, Mum's husband? Nice? Good God, no.
He ran off and left us aeons ago.
Way before we pitched up here.
It's an Inkpen tradition, choosing lousy men.
Of course, you'll probably end up with Prince Charming.
But he must have provided.
I mean, how could you afford to keep - All this? To regain our heritage? Riches to rags to riches again? It's a fairy story, darling.
(SNIFFS) Ugh.
Did you buy this? Yes, at the shop.
We've been so remiss with your education, Hilary.
Would you like to know what I really meant? Order.
Order.
(PEOPLE CALL OUT ANGRILY) Order! What are you doing in here? Got the short straw, sir.
Uniform covering their backs - asked CID to check out the Widger-Inkpen situation.
Which one's Widger anyhow? (SOMEONE SCREAMS) What is it? Is it about me? Possibly.
Mmpossibly not.
What's the matter? Don't you want to know? No.
I don't.
I don't like you when you're like this.
Oh.
(SOBS) Well, you weren't much help.
I kept quiet, didn't I? Meaning? Meaning I think you're wrong.
You don't have to antagonise the whole village like this.
Oh, we care about village opinion now, do we? Don't be stupid.
Maybe you're just keeping all your options open? What options? There must be somebody in the village you haven't slept with yet.
Troy.
Sir? You go back inside.
Try and find out what those lads were on, would you? Don't turn away when I'm speaking to you.
Where are you going? Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember? Dirt.
Somuchdirt.
OMINOUS MUSIC DULL THUD SWISHING SOUND Heel.
Good boy.
Heel.
(DOG BARKS) Crispin.
(CRISPIN BARKS) (CRISPIN BARKS) Crispin.
OMINOUS MUSIC (CRISPIN BARKS) (CRISPIN WHINES) There it is - got it.
Penstemon White Bedder.
Height 70 centimetres.
PHONE RINGS Spread 60.
They'd look terrific in that far corner.
Hello? I might have to chop off a bit of lawn.
You wouldn't mind, would you? Troy.
Morning, sir.
How are we getting on? Secured the scene.
Haven't had time for much else.
But I'd say a heavy blow to the head with a blunt instrument.
She's been dead overnight, stiff as a board and covered in snails.
And there's a possible bit of forensic.
It's not much but - Oh, I haven't touched it.
If you look closely there's a tiny black mark - ink maybe? Is it writing? The end squiggle of a signature even - as it's in a corner? Yeah.
Well done, Troy.
There's nothing else.
Who found her? Crispin.
Crispin? He's a black labrador.
I've been struggling with my conscience, as every good Christian must, and there is something else I should tell you.
One doesn't like to tell tales, especially as a result of what one has quite .
.
inadvertently overheard .
.
but last night, after the meeting Where are you going? Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember? I asked, "Where are you going?" and he said, "Back to the garden.
" Those were his exact words.
Did you follow him? Follow him? Do you know for certain that he went straight to the garden? There and then? I do not follow men.
Excuse me.
It's Mr Bolt, isn't it? Yeah.
Detective Sergeant Troy.
Insecticide.
Organic.
Insecticide, sir? How's it kill 'em, alcohol poisoning? Could I ask when you last saw Miss Felicity Inkpen, sir? What, alive? Sorry.
Of course alive.
Um, last evening, about 7:50.
Just before I left for the village meeting.
Not after the meeting then? No.
No, definitely not.
I went straight home.
Up the lane.
Not to the memorial garden.
Not "back to the garden" at all? No.
You were heard to say that - "back to the garden.
" I was annoyed about the meeting.
I was simply making a point - I'm a gardener.
Nothing more.
Just a gardener.
Not a ladies' man then, sir? And you and your daughter Felicity.
You were on good terms? Who says otherwise? She was a dear and beautiful daughter.
She was her mother's child and I loved her more than I loved anyone else in this whole horrible world.
WEEPING CONTINUES It's Hilary, isn't it? I've been waiting for you.
Last night Fliss "came and found" you.
Could I ask you why? Just to torment me.
It was her favourite pastime.
Oh, you didn't get on? No.
That must have been a bit difficult, living and working under the same roof? Fliss didn't work.
She'd tried modelling and acting.
Without any luck.
Well, they're hard to get into, aren't they? So she just hung about here, bored out of her skull.
And do you know if any other people felt the same way about her as you did? I mean, did she "torment" anyone else? Well, everyone really.
It was her thing.
A kind of attention seeking, I suppose.
But anyone specific? Mum, Daniel, Rodney Widger - Oh, the shotgun man? I'm sorry, Fliss and I didn't like each other but it's not very nice talking about her like this.
Sir! Excuse me.
I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.
Your grand-daughter has been murdered.
So you'll understand that we have to make certain enquiries.
May I just ask you, when did you last see Felicity? Was it before you went to the village hall or afterwards? I know that you left the meeting umearly.
I find your manner and your insinuations extremely offensive.
And I have to say that I'm not entirely overwhelmed by the courtesy of your reply.
Do you really imagine I am not devastated by my grand-daughter's death? Endangered species such as ours do not reduce their numbers from within.
Have you not the wit to look elsewhere? When there is a madman with a shotgun just across the lane, and a young woman with an unhealthy emotional attachment to her father half a mile up it? The madman with the shotgun's presumably Widger.
Who's the girl with the unhealthy attachment? Get in the car.
I'll show you.
Morning.
Bit of a bugger last night.
Yes, yes, murder's never very pleasant, is it? I was talking about the meeting.
Mr Cox? Did you go straight home last night after the meeting? No, I went for a pint over at Mallow.
Who with? Charles King.
He lives opposite the village hall if you need to check.
Oh, we do, Mr Cox, we do.
On everyone.
I was being facetious, you know, about the murder.
It's just there won't be many at the funeral.
So I'm a suspect?! You made an impassioned speech.
You left the meeting early.
And I have nothing but contempt for the whole Inkpen clan, but why should I kill Fliss? Elspeth's the one destroying Dad's garden.
Except that will now stop, I should imagine, for the time being at least.
Jane, I do appreciate how upset - Do you? Do you really? That garden was my father's life for 20 years.
It was him who made it what it is today, not the Inkpens.
Now he's just too ill and tired to fight.
I have to be his champion.
And I will be.
Do you like gardening? It's become quite fashionable with the young, I believe.
Don't have to be a botanist like my Jane.
I watch it on TV sometimes, when there's no football.
Oh, I like football.
I saw the game last night.
What, live? Never miss a live match.
Anyone with you? Yes, Jane came in at half time but I prefer to watch on my own, stops me getting ticked off, for getting too excited.
Do you know a man called Rodney Widger, Mr Bennett? I believe you used to be neighbours.
Yes.
Yes, in my "former life" as I call it.
He was an intemperate man.
Never knew when he was going to fly off the handle.
We didn't have a lot to do with him.
We being you and your daughter? No, my wife, Cynthia.
Jane was away at university then.
She's done ever so well, she's got an MSC, you know.
Mmm.
You were saying about Rodney Widger? Oh, yes, I'm afraid Cynthia used to goad him deliberately.
She could be quite wicked sometimes, you know.
I expect he was quite relieved when she went.
Went? Oh, yes.
I reported her as a missing person, of course.
But I'm sure she was getting fed up with taking second place to Antirrhinums.
Why are you putting Dad through all that again? I'm sorry, I was just asking Mr Bennett about your ex-neighbour, Rodney Widger.
Do you see anything of him nowadays? Only when he walks past with his shotgun.
Goes "culling vermin" as he puts it.
Foxes, rabbits, pigeons.
Most gardeners would make do with a bit of netting.
Rodney's solution with pests is to kill them.
The simple reason I left the meeting early was that I needed the loo.
Urgently.
I've had a touch of cystitis.
Prostate.
I have not got a prostate.
I came home, straight home, answered the call of nature and then watched the second half of the football.
But you don't deny you'd had an altercation earlier in the day? I'd had an altercation with a motor car and been bailed to appear before the magistrates.
I've been threatened with removal of my shotgun and I bitterly resent being harassed in this way when all I've ever done is try to preserve my property.
Aren't there any toilets at the village hall? If you were desperate.
Oh, for God's sake! She doesn't unlock them.
Alright? The Millard woman.
She doesn't like the idea of men, she doesn't like the idea of men full stop.
Can you tell us anything about Cynthia Bennett? Used to live at Inkpen manor.
We know where she used to live, thank you.
Only we're reviewing our missing persons files.
Excuse me.
I need the loo.
Urgently.
What was that all about, sir - Cynthia Bennett, missing persons? I was waiting for you to throw that in, Troy.
You said it.
Cynthia was apparently a thorn in Widger's side.
Just like the Inkpen girl.
Oh, will you stop blubbing! She brought it on herself.
You've both brought everything on yourselves.
Cavorting with Daniel, insulting Widger, raising two fingers to the entire village when you're not raising your skirts, that is! You heartless old bitch! Mum, Mum, she doesn't mean it.
I mean every syllable.
Is this how our 500 years are to end? Like an episode in some sordid television soap opera? You've about as much noblesse oblige as a fishwife in a brothel.
I'm leaving.
Mum.
I've just heard.
Elspeth, I'm most dreadfully sorry.
Thank you, Richard.
Thank you.
If anyone wants me, or your grandmother drops dead, I'll be at the vicarage.
Uh, I don't think we've ever met.
I'm Richard Deverell.
Hilary, I'd like some tea.
Susan, I need a room for the night.
No, if you're digging up the lawn, you're digging up the lawn.
Big bits, small bits, all fine by me.
Now I really just phoned to say I don't know - Well, I don't know when I'm gonna be home.
Right.
And you.
I'll speak to you later.
Bye.
Tell him.
Pumpey? Yes.
Pumpey.
It's sort of like scrumpy only - Lethal? Better.
A subtle blend of apple and potato with a tincture of garlic.
So where's the still or reactor or whatever? I got rid of it.
Last night.
After the meeting.
So you were here? Not in the memorial garden.
I didn't go near the memorial garden, I didn't see anyone.
But you didn't go straight home.
You lied, Mr Bolt.
Well, what would you do if you thought you'd killed someone? I mean the boys.
I thought they might have - if they'd gone into a coma or their livers had packed up or I'm talking about the boys.
Don't leave the village, Mr Bolt.
And stay off the pumpey.
What I can't understand, sir, is what the women see in him.
He's got dirt under his fingernails.
Mrs Inkpen, I'm sorry to trouble you again, I was hoping to see your daughter.
She's not here.
Oh.
May I enquire - At the vicarage.
Tea and sympathy.
Oh, fine.
Uh, while I'm here, I wonder, do you recall Felicity receiving a letter in the last couple of days? A letter? Felicity.
That seems highly improbable.
She only ever communicated by mobile phone.
To the vicarage? No, it'll keep.
I've seen enough Inkpens for one day.
Anyway, we'll see if the lab comes up with something on that scrap of paper.
So what now then? I'm checking alibis.
Desmond's absolutely right.
We went straight from the hall to the Crooked Billet.
Took Janet.
Janet? This old girl.
Are you married, Mr King? Oh, relentlessly.
Miss Inkpen - Fliss - she had, um, something of a reputation, yeah? Er, reputation rather than a track record, I think you'll find.
A tease, not an actual goer.
Or so I've heard.
So you weren't, um, intimately acquainted? Afraid not, he said with feeling.
If you're looking for a crime passionnel, you're sniffing up entirely the wrong trouser leg.
Oh.
Beg your pardon, Mrs Millard.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Very sorry indeed to hear about - Are you? Are you really? Could I have an extra loaf if you have one on board please, Desmond? Mrs Inkpen-Thomas is staying the night.
And, um, a jar of pesto sauce? I must tempt the poor thing to eat something this evening and I know it's her favourite.
I'll drop one by later.
Cynthia Bennett simply got in a taxi and went.
The taxi driver confirms picking her up at Inkpen Manor and then taking her to a hotel in Causton.
She was seen entering the hotel.
But we don't know who she met there or where she went when she left, do we? No, so she's still officially a missing person.
But we do know that she left home of her own accord and that there was no sign of foul play at the hotel.
So the sensible conclusion, Troy, is that she simply left him? She was an unfaithful wife and she left her husband.
Yes.
So what was Rodney Widger so fidgety about then? I mean, he may or may not have had rows with Cynthia when she lived in Inkpen Manor.
He may even have had his eye on her.
But there really is no evidence in the file to make us suspicious.
Is there? No.
So why go and hide in the loo with his prostate? God knows.
Ah, it's the lab report on the paper.
Already? Scrapings from beneath the victims's fingernails match the scrap of paper found on the scene, which suggests that the letter was torn from her grasp, doesn't it, Troy? Mm-hm.
What's the matter with you? Seen a ghost? No.
I - The dead don't walk, Hilary.
They stay dead.
Yes, of course.
I just didn't know who it could be out there at this time of night.
It was me, doing what somebody else should have done.
Did you feed Felicity's horse? No.
Nor did your mother, nor the gardener.
Poor brute would starve to death left to the rest of you.
Another camomile tea? No.
No, thank you.
Still nothing to eat? Really, you should.
A little pasta? I'm making some for myself.
No, really.
No, well, it is rather late.
Perhaps up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire would be best.
(KNOCKS ON DOOR) (RATTLES DOOR) Have they been here? Who? The police, Charles.
The police.
Of course.
What did you say? Nothing at all, dear boy.
Nothing at all.
You may think this incredibly insensitive and inopportune, but it is sometimes therapeutic at such moments to, well, talk about something entirely mundane The, uh, York slabs.
York slabs? Those already lifted and removed from the memorial garden.
Do you have plans for them? I can't say that I do, Susan, no.
Only I'd gladly take a few, just a tiny few, of course, off your hands.
For use here at the vicarage.
The Inkpens have always been such generous benefactors to our church and they would - the slabs that is - be, in a very real sense, a permanent reminder of Fliss.
Help yourself.
Thank you so much.
Do make yourself comfy.
You know where the facilities are, don't you? Sorry? The smallest room? Oh.
Yes of course.
Would it be possible to have a bath? Of course.
I've put the geyser on especially for you.
I shall be in church.
I find it a most beneficial nightcap.
I shall pray for Fliss.
Thank you.
Dear god.
Just stay calm, dear boy.
There's really nothing to worry about.
BANG Oh.
Ugh.
(DOG WHIMPERS) God.
All yours, Crispin.
Yes, my thoughts entirely.
(GRUNTS) (GASPS) (COUGHS) Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! (GRUNTS) Father? Morning, Mr Bennett.
Oh.
No Jane? Gone to Causton.
Oh.
Do you need a hand with those? Thank you.
I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to ask you about your wife.
Mr Bolt, I'm looking for Elspeth.
She's still at the vicarage as far as I know.
Thank you very much.
Any progress? We are pursuing several lines of enquiry, Mr Bolt.
A complete and utter surprise.
It wasn't until the following morning, I realised all her clothes had gone.
Well, Jane and I put two and two together then.
All her clothes had gone? Yes.
Cynthia had her own room in the manor house at that stage.
And her wardrobe and chest were quite empty.
She'd removed herself completely from my life.
Mr Barnaby.
Mr Barnaby.
I'm rather concerned.
I can't rouse Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas? Hello? Elspeth? Stand back.
All these will be a blaze of colour in a few weeks' time.
You really must come and have a look.
I'm ever so sorry, Mr Bennett.
I'm going to have to go now.
Oh, yes, of course you must.
Thank you so much for all your help.
PHONE RINGS Troy.
If I wasn't a deeply religious person I'd think I was bringing some kind of curse on the Inkpens.
Two .
.
two of them I've found dead in the space of 24 hours.
And suicide.
Whilst in my care.
The door was locked.
Key on the inside.
Must my feelings be trampled on instantly? I have now lost a daughter as well as a granddaughter within 24 hours.
I'm not trying to trample on anybody's feelings Mrs Inkpen.
Nevertheless - Suicide is quite impossible.
Unthinkable for an Inkpen.
Nevertheless your daughter did seem deeply upset by Felicity's murder.
The fact that she felt the need to retreat from the family home.
A theatrical gesture.
Elspeth was all show and no substance.
And you have no audience once you're dead.
Gran.
Would you please leave us, Hilary? I can't bear being called "Gran.
" You will appreciate, Mrs Inkpen, despite what you've said about Elspeth, that until the cause of death is established, suicide can't be ruled out.
And in the circumstances - Circumstances? Well, your grand-daughter's murder having occurred just immediately before.
You're suggesting Elspeth killed Fliss then took her own life in a fit of remorse? Well, it's got to be a possibility.
No.
Especially not suicide.
Then what's your view? Two murders in two days, both Inkpens? If you're looking for a common denominator, they'd both been entangled with Daniel Bolt.
If you didn't already know that.
Would it be true to say that you were ambivalent about Elspeth's money making schemes? No, I wasn't ambivalent at all.
I thought them shameful.
Then why didn't you stop them? It's your garden.
Unfortunately not.
I made Inkpen Manor over to Elspeth some time ago.
To avoid inheritance tax.
You have made history.
You heard an Inkpen admit a mistake.
With Elspeth and Fliss both dead, Hilary inherits? Yes.
Depending on the will.
It seems a bit drastic, though, isn't it? To murder your own mother when you know you'll inherit anyway.
Perhaps she couldn't wait for Elspeth to get old.
Perhaps she needs her inheritance in a hurry? Possibly.
But then again, perhaps Naomi was just directing me up the garden path.
She said herself, she's no fool.
Anyway, I don't get the impression there's a lot else left in the family vaults for Hilary to get her hands on.
You don't need a lot else if you've just come into $2.
5 million's worth of property.
So you're going with that then, Hilary prime suspect? No, I'm just saying if she does inherit, she's got a motive.
And if she does or if she doesn't, she could be next on the list.
We're down to one and a half Inkpens, Troy, and counting.
She was one of nature's own.
And where were you when she died? Last night, midnight onwards? Up a tree.
Some strange Midsomer ritual, is this? No.
All right, which tree? In the woods.
Anyone with you? No.
So what exactly were you doing up this tree? Waiting for a badger.
There's a set in the woods next to Rodney Widger's place.
If you're lucky the mother brings her cubs out.
I watch with night glasses.
Keep a safe distance.
Don't want Rodney getting wind of 'em.
Otherwise he'll be out there with his spade and mustard gas.
And did these badgers put in an appearance? No, but Rodney did.
That's bloody nonsense.
I was in all evening and all night.
Wasn't I, Marie? No.
You weren't.
Mr Widger, I have to tell you you were observed leaving home at 11:25pm and returning at 12:35am.
Who by? The damned nosey neighbours? Well, that had nothing to do with Elspeth Inkpen.
Then what did it have to do with? Can we discuss this elsewhere? Certainly.
I knew it.
I knew it.
Did you, Troy? Good.
I didn't tell you where I was when you called me this morning, sir.
No, you didn't.
I went back to Gerald Bennett.
There's a contradiction in the evidence, well - Hey, Troy, take it slowly.
Yes, sir.
Sorry.
The taxi driver's statement in the missing person's file says he collected Cynthia from Inkpen Manor and she only had a shoulder bag.
Yes.
Well, this morning, Gerald Bennett told me that when he and his daughter looked the next day, Cynthia's entire wardrobe had gone.
Well, you can't get an entire wardrobe in a shoulder bag, can you? No, you can't.
But I'm not sure how far this gets us apropos Mr Widger.
Are you? Well, no, sir, not exactly.
Well, you have until this afternoon to find out.
I'd been expecting a visit long before now.
Yes, I'm sorry sir.
We were rather overtaken by events.
Elspeth, you mean? Well it seems to me, Mr Barnaby, that ruling out suicide, as one must - Must one, Mr Deverell? An Inkpen would no more do away with themselves than would a Deverell.
So your view is that Elspeth and Felicity were killed for the same simple reason - the Inkpens' desecration of the memorial garden? Are you giving the remaining two protection? Naomi and the young girl? Violence begets violence, as I'm sure you're professionally aware.
And if there is a lunatic at large, well If there's a lunatic at large, Mr Deverell, no-one is safe.
Ah.
Not an apposite entrance, I assure you.
Allow me to introduce my son, Richard.
Bishop Richard.
Though he rarely does me the honour of dressing as such.
How do you do? How do you do? A chief inspector no less, Richard.
Investigating the demise of the Inkpens.
Yes, I feel I should visit again.
Only having made an identical call just yesterday .
.
one feels entirely inadequate.
You knew Elspeth Inkpen well? From childhood.
I find it impossible to believe she could be murdered over a few rose bushes and a sundial.
You underestimate the good people of Midsomer Deverell, Richard.
But then, you underestimate everyone.
As a matter of routine, I'm obliged to ask your whereabouts last night approximately half an hour either side of midnight? Where I always am at that hour.
Here.
In this chair.
(GASPS) You're just as pretty as any flower in the garden, Hilary.
I don't know why I've never told you before.
Even prettier now you're sad.
You just need someone to help you unfold.
Blossom.
That neck .
.
such a tender stalk.
No.
Why did you lie, Father? To the police.
You weren't here at midnight last night.
Wasn't I? You didn't get home till one.
Well, I'm an old man, Richard.
I'm allowed a lapse of memory.
Where had you been? Visiting at Badger's drift.
(CHUCKLES) Was it really one o'clock? Well, well And where had you been, if impertinent questions are the order of the day? I'd been taking the air.
For so long? I've a lot to think about.
Alright, Mr Widger, perhaps now you'd care to tell us where you went last night? I went to visit a friend.
At the other end of the village.
Charles King.
And he'll verify this, will he? He'd damn well better, we're in this together.
In what? I went to warn him about you.
The police.
About your interest in Cynthia Bennett.
Not that we did anything wrong.
Not to her.
Not to anybody.
It's just that we didn't give an entirely full account.
Well, we didn't give any account at all, in fact.
Five years ago.
Do you know something about the disappearance of Cynthia Bennett? No, no, nothing at all.
It was nothing to do with us.
Mr Widger.
Please.
Cynthia was a veryfriendly lady.
We'd had our ups and downs, mostly over noise.
She liked a lot of noisy modern music, did Cynthia.
But she certainly knew how to get round a chap.
Especially in the last couple of years they lived there.
She got a bit bored, you see.
Like I said, she was a .
.
she was a very friendly lady.
She invited Charles and me to meet her at the Deverell Arms Hotel in Causton.
She'd booked a room.
They don't take a lot of notice there.
She arrived by taxi and we spent the afternoon and evening together.
The three of you? After dark we drove back to Midsomer Deverell, the three of us in Charles' car.
We dropped Cynthia off at the Manor and then we went back to his place for a nightcap.
Then I walked home.
The following day, Cynthia was reported missing.
Charles and I came to the decision that there was nothing to be gained by coming forward.
I mean, what was the point in clouding the issue by publicising our afternoon's entertainment? Did it never occur to you, Mr King, that your silence prevented a proper search being carried out for Mrs Bennett? That assumptions were made that wouldn't have been made if you'd come forward? Shh, shh.
Please.
Wives do have ears you know.
Even if they have nothing between them.
It was sport, Sergeant.
Pure sport.
Well, not entirely pure.
But nothing more, I assure you.
In fact, I experienced a deep sense of loss when Cynthia vanished.
Rather like losing a favourite golf club.
So, George? Not pills, not booze.
Not needles - And no wound.
So now you're going to say you can't tell me anything until you get the toxicology report done, right? Au contraire.
Let me tell you, don't believe this was suicide.
The lab found traces of olive oil and herbs on the bedroom key.
Ah yes, pesto sauce.
There's lots of that in there.
To disguise the taste, which is apparently foul.
The taste of what? Did Mrs Inkpen-Thomas eat anything when she was here, Mrs Millard? No.
No, she didn't.
She wouldn't.
I did offer, of course.
But there was a dish.
A bowl, from the same set as that.
Was there? I didn't notice.
Look, please, why are you dismantling my kitchen? Mrs Millard.
Mrs Millard, we are far from convinced that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas killed herself.
She swallowed a toxic substance, prepared in a kitchen and then mixed with ordinary food.
NoSurely Not here, under my roof.
Is it possible she could've filled the bowl herself? From something she'd cooked here, or something from your larder? Well, possible, while I was at church.
But I don't have a kitchen full of poisons.
Was anyone else in the church? What, at that time of night? In this godless country of ours, we have enough trouble filling the pews on a Sunday morning.
Did you lock the vicarage doors, Mrs Millard, when you went to church? After Mrs Inkpen-Thomas had gone upstairs? No.
I never lock the doors.
It's a point of Christian principle.
So it is possible that someone who knew the house, knew that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas was here, could have gained entry while you were elsewhere? Well, it's possible.
The dog.
Wouldn't the dog have reacted to an intruder? Crispin has a very positive attitude to all humanity.
And your husband, the Vicar.
He's been gone for - how long is it now? Four days.
When d'you expect him back? I don't know.
The day after tomorrow.
Why? What does he think of the Inkpens and their commercial exploitation of the village? He looks for the best in everyone.
Even adulterers? Female adulterers? Jezebels? Oh, yes.
He'd especially try to help them.
And what is your view of such women, Mrs Millard? I firmly believe in the sanctity of marriage and that adultery is a sin.
An old fashioned word that, Mr Barnaby, but perhaps the world would be a better place if more people were prepared to fight sin when and where they find it.
One can take appeasement only so far.
Here you are.
Tom.
You're home very early.
You've caught me digging up rather too much of your lawn.
Yeah, I'm still working actually.
Do you have pictures in those plant encyclopaedias of yours? Yes.
Why? What are you looking up? A for aconite.
What do you think you're doing? Mrs Inkpen.
Well? I am conducting a murder investigation, Mrs Inkpen.
That is what I am doing.
These plants.
Have you picked any of them recently? Of course I haven't.
One doesn't need monkshood in the house when one has plenty of roses.
Monkshood? So you know the common name do you? Then you'll also know these plants are among the most toxic that we grow in the country? Your interest is professional? No, no, it's practical.
So if you don't put them in the house in vases, what do you do with them? We leave them alone.
Well, you should know, Mr Bolt.
Being the gardener.
You eat the roots of this, Troy, cooked or raw, and you're a goner.
And this was crudely done.
George Bullard could still see bits in the stomach contents.
Someone's tried very hard to make it look like a suicide, but the bedroom key has got food on it.
My scenario is that they force-fed Elspeth with this stuff, then put the key back in the lock before they climbed out through the window, leaving her to die horribly.
And she would have died horribly.
Aconite doesn't provide a painless exit.
So we're looking for someone who really, really hated her.
But who, Troy, who? And will they kill again? We need a breakthrough.
Allow me, sir.
See? "This stone laid 18th June 1996 by Gerald Bennett.
" Cynthia Bennett disappeared on the 11th.
Just a week before.
Sir, if you had been very indiscreet, if you regarded the woman you'd been playing away with as a tart and cared more for your social standing than her life, and had murdered her, then what better place to bury her? They're digging a hole.
Who are? The police.
OMINOUS MUSIC Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Forgive those sins that destroy our peace on Earth.
Murder, adultery.
I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Millard.
Dad sent these for the church.
What are they looking for? I really don't know.
But I don't want to watch.
I'm going for a walk.
Would you like to come? But soon, eh? Sir! Cynthia.
TroyTroy? You can't know it's Cynthia.
We'll know by tomorrow, Mr Widger.
The skull has a full set of teeth.
So I'll tell you what I think.
I think that after five years you've finally told the truth .
.
but not the whole truth.
Yes, you and Charles King brought Cynthia back to Inkpen Manor but no, you didn't drop her off, you dropped her in a hole.
You were scared your afternoon's entertainment wouldn't remain a secret, Cynthia would blab.
And being pillars of the community, you wouldn't want that.
So you killed her.
The police are pursuing their enquiries with pick-axes.
I appreciate your coming, Richard.
One can only hope you don't feel obliged to make a third visit.
It hardly seems appropriate to mention it but I shall be leaving at the weekend.
My latest pilgrimage to Rome.
I wish you better fortune this time.
And I'm sure Elspeth would have done the same.
I should like to think so.
What the hell are you playing at, Troy? Fronting up Widger, sir - Yes, and? Well, he denies murder of course but there's still Charles.
There's still a next of kin to be informed, Troy.
To make an identification, even.
I'm sorry, sir.
I was out of order.
Procedurally.
Yeah, yeah.
I'm just wondering if we're not out of order in a more dangerous way.
Have we missed the blindingly obvious? Which is? Gerald Bennett.
Gerald Bennett? He couldn't have whacked Fliss on the head or climbed through a casement window.
Granted.
But he's not always been as frail as he is today.
He is Cynthia's wronged husband and if he did kill her no-one - no-one - had a better opportunity to bury her.
TAP AT DOOR Jane? Hi.
Sorry, darling.
I needed a nap.
Cup of tea? Oh, yes.
Please.
I should go.
Goodbye, Hilary.
I hope we meet again.
KNOCK AT DOOR Mr Bennett? Sorry, you're dead.
And you.
And you were quite lovely, such rare beauty.
Now you simply flowered yourself to death, didn't you? Such exuberance.
Ah, but little aquilegia.
Such .
.
such sweet old-fashioned charm.
Just as beautiful as your showy, glitzy sisters.
Nothing.
No-one seems to have seen her since yesterday evening.
It could have been King, sir, the other party in the hotel room.
He would have had time after I spoke to him.
No, Troy.
There's a daughter here who loved her father very, very much.
A daughter whose face is everywhere.
A daughter who spoke passionately, vehemently, against digging up the memorial garden.
Got to find Jane Bennett.
I thought you'd gone to Rome without telling me.
Just Causton.
To the bank.
There was a phone call.
Father, we need to talk about money.
How do you rate your chances this time, Richard? Election to the sacred college? Well, obviously I'm in the running but it's a very long process.
Certain things still matter though.
Conduct.
Behaviour.
Those found wanting are going to be weeded out.
Do you know how much it would mean to me for you to become a cardinal? You, the last Deverell, being the first ever in 500 years to rise so high.
Father, it's not the be-all and end-all.
Isn't it? It's the only thing I stay alive for.
Father, the bank.
Saw Hilary, did you? When you paid your respects at the Manor? Yes, I saw Hilary.
And what did you think? How did she strike you? I knew where she was going, you see.
And I had a good idea who she was meeting.
It wasn't so much that she was carrying on, It was the fact that she and they, and all the others before them, took such pleasure in Dad not realising.
The smirking and sniggering, the making fun behind his back, I justcouldn't take any more.
So I waited for her to come back from Causton and strangled her with a pair of tights.
She was drunk, and I'mquite strong.
I'd already planned what to do with her.
I rather liked the idea that when the memorial garden was finished, people would walk all over her like she'd walked all over Dad.
So then I cleared her things and hid them in my car and took them to the dump next day.
I knew Widger and King wouldn't come forward when we reported her missing The downside was that Dad actually did miss her.
His health was already deteriorating anyway and the manor just suddenly seemed just too big.
The cottage was right for him, though.
He's been happy there.
Until the Inkpens started digging up the past? If he'd discovered what my mother was really like it would have broken his heart.
He didn't have much time left, anyway.
Better to finish it gently without the truth.
He was such an innocent.
I couldn't bear him to lose that right at the end.
But it's still murder, Miss Bennett.
And you have to understand that, given your very clear reason for not wanting the memorial garden dug up, you are now prime suspect for the deaths of Felicity Inkpen and her mother - what I have done, I have done for my father.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I hated my mother.
Not the Inkpens.
Others hated them.
Don't build up your hopes.
Not while there are still three of them left.
Merciless bloodsuckers Bloodsuckers.
That's an odd expression in the context of what was going on at Inkpen manor.
She could be winding us up, sir.
She was desperate to stop the digging, and murdering Inkpens was a way of doing it.
Plus she's young and fit, she knows the vicarage and she knows about plants.
If it was just desperation Troy, why kill Elspeth so, so horribly? Why not just strangle her or bash her over the head? Elspeth suffered.
There was real hatred there.
Or stark raving madness.
Yeah possibly.
But hate, Troy, or greed are more common.
Ah, this is from the solicitor.
Elspeth's will.
Ah, don't tell me.
The Gardeners' Benevolent Society? There was no money but the house is left jointly to Hilary and Fliss.
.
.
.
and Daniel Bolt, the gardener.
I do understand why you keep shying away from me, Hilary.
I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking this man made love to my sister and my mother and now they're both dead.
But, if you're honest, don't you agree there's something about death that makes you want to reaffirm life? You shouldn't deny that instinct.
Nature doesn't.
Nature does just what it likes.
Because nature knows what's best.
Instinctively.
The lilium speciosum doesn't mourn.
It just turns its delicate neck to the sun.
Actually I was looking for your father, sir.
Is he at home? No.
No he isn't but do come in.
Please.
Do you know who I am? Mr Richard Deverell, uh, Bishop Richard Deverell.
I have only just found out who I am.
I am was the lover of Elspeth Inkpen.
No.
I knew that, of course.
I am the father of her illegitimate child.
I did not know that.
Hilary Inkpen is my daughter.
And my father, my damnable father has Where is Mr Deverell, please? Gone to see her.
Naomi Inkpen.
To deliver his latest tribute.
She must have cash, it seems.
She must have real money in her hands and it must be placed there by him.
The price is humiliation as well as money The price of what? Her forbearance.
Until I am elected Cardinal.
Rome? The Vatican? You know my father funded the Inkpens' repurchase of their "rightful family home".
It may seem a small enough indiscretion in the modern world to have fathered a child, but my father is convinced otherwise and convinced that the Vatican would share his view.
He's right.
And he is desperate that I should succeed this time.
If you need proof, read the letter.
"My dear Augustus, an ecclesiastical bird has told me that Richard, your Richard, has high hopes of at last fulfilling the Deverell dream.
We Inkpens will hear nothing said against him.
Provided of course, that you honour your obligations to your friends.
In which respect with the recent arrival of Hilary in our midst, we are now in possession of what might be described as the walking DNA proof.
Yours in anticipation.
" Mr Bolt.
Mr Bolt? TELEPHONE RINGS Sir? Troy.
Augustus Deverell is heading for Inkpen manor.
Stop him.
Don't let him get near to Naomi.
I'll be with you in a few minutes.
Excuse me! Not now, Mr Widger.
I've been burgled! Not interested.
You damn well will be.
Augustus.
Such old-world punctuality.
Mrs Inkpen? Mrs Inkpen? She's not in the garden.
GUNSHOT All right, Gran? Smell the blood? You like the blood, don't you? A bit of "DNA proof", as it says in the letter? And I was stupid enough to think I was wanted here.
Not loved, I never hoped for that, not from you anyway But I wasn't even wanted, was I? Was I? Not even by Mum.
Not wanted for myself.
Just used Just turned to advantage.
Yes, look away.
What did the three of you do? Get it out and gloat over it once a week? Why else keep a copy in the house? Fliss laughed so much when she told me, when she read that out.
Fliss was a stupid little bitch.
Dead little bitch now.
She opened my eyes so I opened her head.
But she's the only one of you I've killed in anger.
I took pleasure over Mum.
I stuffed her bloody garden right down her throat.
And I'm going to make a mess of you.
Because you don't like mess.
Everything must be just so, mustn't it.
On the outside.
Well I don't want you going to hell looking tidy! Mrs Millard? Sergeant Troy.
Chief inspector Barnaby just thought we ought to let you know we shan't be needing your kitchen utensils any more.
Poor Hilary Yes.
And poor Jane Bennett.
It's most troubling to one's conscience that some crimes seem entirely justified.
Jane's is one of them.
I've always felt, as I told Mr Barnaby, that adultery is one of the most despicable of all human activities.
Nice patio.
New? Very.
I find hard work an aid to prayer and there has been so much to pray about recently.
And, uh, still no vicar? Good evening.
Arthur, this is Sergeant Troy.
How do you do.
Hello.
Would you care to join us for tea and an ecumenical debrief? Uh, no.
Thank you.
It's a relief, I mean, a pleasure to meet you, Vicar.
I'd best be off.
Bye, Crispin.
DOG BARKS And as well as the White Bedder, I've brought you a few Pennington gems Oh, that's very kind of you, Daniel.
Bear in mind the White Bedder is vigorous and very erect, so make sure you put it where you want it, otherwise it's likely to, um, overshadow lesser plants.
Yes, I see.
I'd be quite happy to come back and make sure everything's nicely .
.
bedded in? Ah, Mr Barnaby.
Right, well uh, I'll be off then.
I was going to offer him a drink.
I think he had some propagating to do elsewhere.
Come on, I'll make you one.
Is there any lawn left to sit on? Closed Captions by CSI
Penstemon digitalis.
Penstemon strictus.
Ligularia dentata.
Platycodon grandifloris.
Dianthus superbus! Oh, for God's sake! THEME MUSIC Morning, Mrs Inkpen.
Odious little upstart.
CARS HONKING Hey! Come on.
How long you gonna be? This is a plan of the gardens.
We have an absolutely beautiful collection of euphorbias.
But unfortunately no video arcade.
The Inkpens have been here since the Reformation.
They've had long enough to organize a decent car park then, haven't they? Naomi had to sell 25 years ago.
Her husband died, left her penniless.
A stockbroker called Gerald Bennett bought the place.
They're back of course, now, the Inkpens.
Good God, it's 11 quid.
How do you know all this? Desmond, from the village shop.
He delivers our organic meat.
I didn't know we'd gone organic? Hadn't you noticed the difference? No.
You haven't gone to golf then? No, I haven't gone to golf.
Euphorbias, yeah? Very good.
Any chance of a cup of tea? Going for a ride, darling? No, a swim.
Daniel just gave me this.
Apparently you were making some kind of point? About ageing mothers? Well, you know what they say, dear - the old varieties smell the sweetest.
Take those to the ticket office, Hilary, we're nearly out.
These are beautiful.
They're very fashionable at the moment, penstemons.
That one's called White Bedder.
Oh.
Flowers very well right through to autumn.
I haven't seen them before, are they hard to propagate? No, not really, just softwood cuttings from non-flowering shoots.
Do you live locally? Uh, yes, fairly.
Causton.
I'll be doing some of these next week, I could drop you over a few if you like.
What's the name? Uh, Barnaby.
Joyce.
But really it's - No, it's no problem.
They deserve wider appreciation.
What's the address? Parchmore Close.
Number 6.
Parchmore.
Right.
Well, consider it done, Joyce.
See you next week.
Thank you.
Well, how kind.
GUNSHOTS SHOTS CONTINUE (PANICKED COMMOTION) Next time it'll be one of those bitches, so help me.
This is not the wild west, sir.
I'm afraid you are under arrest.
I have had enough! I can hardly be blamed for Rodney Widger's behaviour.
I'm not talking about Widger.
If you must fornicate at least have the dignity not to fight like a pair of polecats over the trousers concerned.
And as for the garden - My garden, Mother.
My garden, and my gardener.
Then face the consequences of your money-grubbing actions.
Yes, well, when it comes to grubbing money - Hilary.
Would you bring me my whiskey and water, please.
And I'll have another G&T.
Mum? No, thank you.
CAR PULLS UP Hello, Dad.
Dad? What's the matter? Desmond.
Hello, Jane.
I've just heard about the memorial.
What on earth are they doing? Elspeth's idea.
The manor garden is getting so popular she decided they need a tearoom.
And that's where she's gonna build it.
But she can't.
It'll break Dad's heart.
You know there's a meeting tonight? BUBBLING Oi, Daniel, give us some.
Go on, you promised.
I told you, no.
You give some to me sister.
How do you know about that? She told me.
She is only 15, his sister.
One bottle.
And don't ride your bikes afterwards.
Mum? Yes, darling.
What's going on? Between you and Fliss? Pay no attention to your sister, dear.
Whatever she says.
Ever.
She's just a bad-tempered little madam.
I sometimes wish I'd given her up for adoption rather than you.
Oh dear, rustics approaching.
Just so that you don't forget, Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Village hall, 7:30.
There's really nowhere else I'd rather be, Desmond.
I'm just delighted to be the cause of so much excitement.
Whoever said the English village was dead? Richard! No driver? No chaplain? You could be a commercial salesman instead of a bishop.
Good evening, Father.
Are you well? Well enough to give those damned Inkpens a bloody nose.
I'll see you later.
Unless you want to come? Uh, where to exactly? Village hall.
The villagers have turned to me.
I'm sorry.
Nice to be a Deverell where a Deverell should be - central to events.
Did you know it was your anniversary today? Two years since you walked into our lives here? Into the bosom of your long lost family.
Yes.
Yes, I did know.
Are you still glad you did? All that time and effort in tracing us.
Have we been what you'd hoped for? I've got no complaints.
How wonderfully magnanimous of you.
I do understand, Fliss.
How it must have been for you when I turned up.
Because there's been a bastard lurking.
You think I'm jealous? Resentful? Do you think I hate you? I don't hate you, I pity you.
Because what you - Are you coming to the meeting? You don't think this is a bit voyeuristic? Not at all, it's a public meeting.
And I'm interested.
I hope you're not planning to speak? No, but I can vote if they ask for a show of hands.
Oh, look who's here.
What? The man with the shotgun.
Uniform must have bailed him.
You never finished what you were saying.
Indoors earlier, you said you pitied me.
Why? Because we have different fathers.
But I know that.
If you were a gentleman, you would move to allow my daughter and I to sit together.
If you were a lady, I shouldn't hesitate.
There are still seats further back, Mrs Inkpen.
Further back? I have not sat further back in my entire life.
Mrs Inkpen's humility is the greatest of the many gifts she has passed to her descendants.
Mother.
Ladies and gentlemen, if I could just call this meeting to order.
The vicar sends his apologies for absence and peaceful blessings to all but we do welcome particularly this evening, Mrs Elspeth Inkpen-Thomas, and thank her for agreeing to take part in what promises to be a lively discussion.
Though I'm quite sure that in the words of the memorial garden itself common sense and tolerance will inform our debate.
Who will speak first? Jane Bennett.
Daughter of Gerald Bennett, who created the memorial garden.
To dig up that beautiful place, which gives pleasure and sense of community to so many and replace it with a commercial teashop is an act of unspeakable vandalism.
ALL: Hear, hear.
And I should just like to ask Mrs Inkpen-Thomas by what right she takes back and destroys what was freely given to this village by my father.
(ALL MUTTER IN AGREEMENT) BIRDS TWITTER APPLAUSE (PEOPLE BOO) Mrs Millard, members of the village committee.
Miss Bennett asks by what right? Well, the simple answer is the right of ownership.
When her father sold Inkpen Manor back to the Inkpens five years ago there were no caveats, no exclusions.
Legally the memorial garden is our property.
(PEOPLE MURMUR) All Mr Bennett did, apart from create it, was to grant right of access to the villagers.
All we are doing is withdrawing that right.
(PEOPLE MURMUR ANGRILY) And frankly what we Inkpens choose to do in that respect is the business of nobody in this hall tonight.
I mean, really, if the village really wants a naff memorial garden (ALL COMPLAIN) .
.
a naff memorial garden let it build one somewhere else.
(PEOPLE CALL OUT ANGRILY) I bet you can't wait to turn this into a teashop, being on Mummy's side in everything.
Was your father particularly nice then, Fliss? Is that what you meant? I know mine's a mystery but yours, Mum's husband? Nice? Good God, no.
He ran off and left us aeons ago.
Way before we pitched up here.
It's an Inkpen tradition, choosing lousy men.
Of course, you'll probably end up with Prince Charming.
But he must have provided.
I mean, how could you afford to keep - All this? To regain our heritage? Riches to rags to riches again? It's a fairy story, darling.
(SNIFFS) Ugh.
Did you buy this? Yes, at the shop.
We've been so remiss with your education, Hilary.
Would you like to know what I really meant? Order.
Order.
(PEOPLE CALL OUT ANGRILY) Order! What are you doing in here? Got the short straw, sir.
Uniform covering their backs - asked CID to check out the Widger-Inkpen situation.
Which one's Widger anyhow? (SOMEONE SCREAMS) What is it? Is it about me? Possibly.
Mmpossibly not.
What's the matter? Don't you want to know? No.
I don't.
I don't like you when you're like this.
Oh.
(SOBS) Well, you weren't much help.
I kept quiet, didn't I? Meaning? Meaning I think you're wrong.
You don't have to antagonise the whole village like this.
Oh, we care about village opinion now, do we? Don't be stupid.
Maybe you're just keeping all your options open? What options? There must be somebody in the village you haven't slept with yet.
Troy.
Sir? You go back inside.
Try and find out what those lads were on, would you? Don't turn away when I'm speaking to you.
Where are you going? Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember? Dirt.
Somuchdirt.
OMINOUS MUSIC DULL THUD SWISHING SOUND Heel.
Good boy.
Heel.
(DOG BARKS) Crispin.
(CRISPIN BARKS) (CRISPIN BARKS) Crispin.
OMINOUS MUSIC (CRISPIN BARKS) (CRISPIN WHINES) There it is - got it.
Penstemon White Bedder.
Height 70 centimetres.
PHONE RINGS Spread 60.
They'd look terrific in that far corner.
Hello? I might have to chop off a bit of lawn.
You wouldn't mind, would you? Troy.
Morning, sir.
How are we getting on? Secured the scene.
Haven't had time for much else.
But I'd say a heavy blow to the head with a blunt instrument.
She's been dead overnight, stiff as a board and covered in snails.
And there's a possible bit of forensic.
It's not much but - Oh, I haven't touched it.
If you look closely there's a tiny black mark - ink maybe? Is it writing? The end squiggle of a signature even - as it's in a corner? Yeah.
Well done, Troy.
There's nothing else.
Who found her? Crispin.
Crispin? He's a black labrador.
I've been struggling with my conscience, as every good Christian must, and there is something else I should tell you.
One doesn't like to tell tales, especially as a result of what one has quite .
.
inadvertently overheard .
.
but last night, after the meeting Where are you going? Back to the garden.
I'm a gardener, remember? I asked, "Where are you going?" and he said, "Back to the garden.
" Those were his exact words.
Did you follow him? Follow him? Do you know for certain that he went straight to the garden? There and then? I do not follow men.
Excuse me.
It's Mr Bolt, isn't it? Yeah.
Detective Sergeant Troy.
Insecticide.
Organic.
Insecticide, sir? How's it kill 'em, alcohol poisoning? Could I ask when you last saw Miss Felicity Inkpen, sir? What, alive? Sorry.
Of course alive.
Um, last evening, about 7:50.
Just before I left for the village meeting.
Not after the meeting then? No.
No, definitely not.
I went straight home.
Up the lane.
Not to the memorial garden.
Not "back to the garden" at all? No.
You were heard to say that - "back to the garden.
" I was annoyed about the meeting.
I was simply making a point - I'm a gardener.
Nothing more.
Just a gardener.
Not a ladies' man then, sir? And you and your daughter Felicity.
You were on good terms? Who says otherwise? She was a dear and beautiful daughter.
She was her mother's child and I loved her more than I loved anyone else in this whole horrible world.
WEEPING CONTINUES It's Hilary, isn't it? I've been waiting for you.
Last night Fliss "came and found" you.
Could I ask you why? Just to torment me.
It was her favourite pastime.
Oh, you didn't get on? No.
That must have been a bit difficult, living and working under the same roof? Fliss didn't work.
She'd tried modelling and acting.
Without any luck.
Well, they're hard to get into, aren't they? So she just hung about here, bored out of her skull.
And do you know if any other people felt the same way about her as you did? I mean, did she "torment" anyone else? Well, everyone really.
It was her thing.
A kind of attention seeking, I suppose.
But anyone specific? Mum, Daniel, Rodney Widger - Oh, the shotgun man? I'm sorry, Fliss and I didn't like each other but it's not very nice talking about her like this.
Sir! Excuse me.
I'm Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby.
Your grand-daughter has been murdered.
So you'll understand that we have to make certain enquiries.
May I just ask you, when did you last see Felicity? Was it before you went to the village hall or afterwards? I know that you left the meeting umearly.
I find your manner and your insinuations extremely offensive.
And I have to say that I'm not entirely overwhelmed by the courtesy of your reply.
Do you really imagine I am not devastated by my grand-daughter's death? Endangered species such as ours do not reduce their numbers from within.
Have you not the wit to look elsewhere? When there is a madman with a shotgun just across the lane, and a young woman with an unhealthy emotional attachment to her father half a mile up it? The madman with the shotgun's presumably Widger.
Who's the girl with the unhealthy attachment? Get in the car.
I'll show you.
Morning.
Bit of a bugger last night.
Yes, yes, murder's never very pleasant, is it? I was talking about the meeting.
Mr Cox? Did you go straight home last night after the meeting? No, I went for a pint over at Mallow.
Who with? Charles King.
He lives opposite the village hall if you need to check.
Oh, we do, Mr Cox, we do.
On everyone.
I was being facetious, you know, about the murder.
It's just there won't be many at the funeral.
So I'm a suspect?! You made an impassioned speech.
You left the meeting early.
And I have nothing but contempt for the whole Inkpen clan, but why should I kill Fliss? Elspeth's the one destroying Dad's garden.
Except that will now stop, I should imagine, for the time being at least.
Jane, I do appreciate how upset - Do you? Do you really? That garden was my father's life for 20 years.
It was him who made it what it is today, not the Inkpens.
Now he's just too ill and tired to fight.
I have to be his champion.
And I will be.
Do you like gardening? It's become quite fashionable with the young, I believe.
Don't have to be a botanist like my Jane.
I watch it on TV sometimes, when there's no football.
Oh, I like football.
I saw the game last night.
What, live? Never miss a live match.
Anyone with you? Yes, Jane came in at half time but I prefer to watch on my own, stops me getting ticked off, for getting too excited.
Do you know a man called Rodney Widger, Mr Bennett? I believe you used to be neighbours.
Yes.
Yes, in my "former life" as I call it.
He was an intemperate man.
Never knew when he was going to fly off the handle.
We didn't have a lot to do with him.
We being you and your daughter? No, my wife, Cynthia.
Jane was away at university then.
She's done ever so well, she's got an MSC, you know.
Mmm.
You were saying about Rodney Widger? Oh, yes, I'm afraid Cynthia used to goad him deliberately.
She could be quite wicked sometimes, you know.
I expect he was quite relieved when she went.
Went? Oh, yes.
I reported her as a missing person, of course.
But I'm sure she was getting fed up with taking second place to Antirrhinums.
Why are you putting Dad through all that again? I'm sorry, I was just asking Mr Bennett about your ex-neighbour, Rodney Widger.
Do you see anything of him nowadays? Only when he walks past with his shotgun.
Goes "culling vermin" as he puts it.
Foxes, rabbits, pigeons.
Most gardeners would make do with a bit of netting.
Rodney's solution with pests is to kill them.
The simple reason I left the meeting early was that I needed the loo.
Urgently.
I've had a touch of cystitis.
Prostate.
I have not got a prostate.
I came home, straight home, answered the call of nature and then watched the second half of the football.
But you don't deny you'd had an altercation earlier in the day? I'd had an altercation with a motor car and been bailed to appear before the magistrates.
I've been threatened with removal of my shotgun and I bitterly resent being harassed in this way when all I've ever done is try to preserve my property.
Aren't there any toilets at the village hall? If you were desperate.
Oh, for God's sake! She doesn't unlock them.
Alright? The Millard woman.
She doesn't like the idea of men, she doesn't like the idea of men full stop.
Can you tell us anything about Cynthia Bennett? Used to live at Inkpen manor.
We know where she used to live, thank you.
Only we're reviewing our missing persons files.
Excuse me.
I need the loo.
Urgently.
What was that all about, sir - Cynthia Bennett, missing persons? I was waiting for you to throw that in, Troy.
You said it.
Cynthia was apparently a thorn in Widger's side.
Just like the Inkpen girl.
Oh, will you stop blubbing! She brought it on herself.
You've both brought everything on yourselves.
Cavorting with Daniel, insulting Widger, raising two fingers to the entire village when you're not raising your skirts, that is! You heartless old bitch! Mum, Mum, she doesn't mean it.
I mean every syllable.
Is this how our 500 years are to end? Like an episode in some sordid television soap opera? You've about as much noblesse oblige as a fishwife in a brothel.
I'm leaving.
Mum.
I've just heard.
Elspeth, I'm most dreadfully sorry.
Thank you, Richard.
Thank you.
If anyone wants me, or your grandmother drops dead, I'll be at the vicarage.
Uh, I don't think we've ever met.
I'm Richard Deverell.
Hilary, I'd like some tea.
Susan, I need a room for the night.
No, if you're digging up the lawn, you're digging up the lawn.
Big bits, small bits, all fine by me.
Now I really just phoned to say I don't know - Well, I don't know when I'm gonna be home.
Right.
And you.
I'll speak to you later.
Bye.
Tell him.
Pumpey? Yes.
Pumpey.
It's sort of like scrumpy only - Lethal? Better.
A subtle blend of apple and potato with a tincture of garlic.
So where's the still or reactor or whatever? I got rid of it.
Last night.
After the meeting.
So you were here? Not in the memorial garden.
I didn't go near the memorial garden, I didn't see anyone.
But you didn't go straight home.
You lied, Mr Bolt.
Well, what would you do if you thought you'd killed someone? I mean the boys.
I thought they might have - if they'd gone into a coma or their livers had packed up or I'm talking about the boys.
Don't leave the village, Mr Bolt.
And stay off the pumpey.
What I can't understand, sir, is what the women see in him.
He's got dirt under his fingernails.
Mrs Inkpen, I'm sorry to trouble you again, I was hoping to see your daughter.
She's not here.
Oh.
May I enquire - At the vicarage.
Tea and sympathy.
Oh, fine.
Uh, while I'm here, I wonder, do you recall Felicity receiving a letter in the last couple of days? A letter? Felicity.
That seems highly improbable.
She only ever communicated by mobile phone.
To the vicarage? No, it'll keep.
I've seen enough Inkpens for one day.
Anyway, we'll see if the lab comes up with something on that scrap of paper.
So what now then? I'm checking alibis.
Desmond's absolutely right.
We went straight from the hall to the Crooked Billet.
Took Janet.
Janet? This old girl.
Are you married, Mr King? Oh, relentlessly.
Miss Inkpen - Fliss - she had, um, something of a reputation, yeah? Er, reputation rather than a track record, I think you'll find.
A tease, not an actual goer.
Or so I've heard.
So you weren't, um, intimately acquainted? Afraid not, he said with feeling.
If you're looking for a crime passionnel, you're sniffing up entirely the wrong trouser leg.
Oh.
Beg your pardon, Mrs Millard.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Very sorry indeed to hear about - Are you? Are you really? Could I have an extra loaf if you have one on board please, Desmond? Mrs Inkpen-Thomas is staying the night.
And, um, a jar of pesto sauce? I must tempt the poor thing to eat something this evening and I know it's her favourite.
I'll drop one by later.
Cynthia Bennett simply got in a taxi and went.
The taxi driver confirms picking her up at Inkpen Manor and then taking her to a hotel in Causton.
She was seen entering the hotel.
But we don't know who she met there or where she went when she left, do we? No, so she's still officially a missing person.
But we do know that she left home of her own accord and that there was no sign of foul play at the hotel.
So the sensible conclusion, Troy, is that she simply left him? She was an unfaithful wife and she left her husband.
Yes.
So what was Rodney Widger so fidgety about then? I mean, he may or may not have had rows with Cynthia when she lived in Inkpen Manor.
He may even have had his eye on her.
But there really is no evidence in the file to make us suspicious.
Is there? No.
So why go and hide in the loo with his prostate? God knows.
Ah, it's the lab report on the paper.
Already? Scrapings from beneath the victims's fingernails match the scrap of paper found on the scene, which suggests that the letter was torn from her grasp, doesn't it, Troy? Mm-hm.
What's the matter with you? Seen a ghost? No.
I - The dead don't walk, Hilary.
They stay dead.
Yes, of course.
I just didn't know who it could be out there at this time of night.
It was me, doing what somebody else should have done.
Did you feed Felicity's horse? No.
Nor did your mother, nor the gardener.
Poor brute would starve to death left to the rest of you.
Another camomile tea? No.
No, thank you.
Still nothing to eat? Really, you should.
A little pasta? I'm making some for myself.
No, really.
No, well, it is rather late.
Perhaps up the wooden hill to Bedfordshire would be best.
(KNOCKS ON DOOR) (RATTLES DOOR) Have they been here? Who? The police, Charles.
The police.
Of course.
What did you say? Nothing at all, dear boy.
Nothing at all.
You may think this incredibly insensitive and inopportune, but it is sometimes therapeutic at such moments to, well, talk about something entirely mundane The, uh, York slabs.
York slabs? Those already lifted and removed from the memorial garden.
Do you have plans for them? I can't say that I do, Susan, no.
Only I'd gladly take a few, just a tiny few, of course, off your hands.
For use here at the vicarage.
The Inkpens have always been such generous benefactors to our church and they would - the slabs that is - be, in a very real sense, a permanent reminder of Fliss.
Help yourself.
Thank you so much.
Do make yourself comfy.
You know where the facilities are, don't you? Sorry? The smallest room? Oh.
Yes of course.
Would it be possible to have a bath? Of course.
I've put the geyser on especially for you.
I shall be in church.
I find it a most beneficial nightcap.
I shall pray for Fliss.
Thank you.
Dear god.
Just stay calm, dear boy.
There's really nothing to worry about.
BANG Oh.
Ugh.
(DOG WHIMPERS) God.
All yours, Crispin.
Yes, my thoughts entirely.
(GRUNTS) (GASPS) (COUGHS) Oh God! Oh God! Oh God! (GRUNTS) Father? Morning, Mr Bennett.
Oh.
No Jane? Gone to Causton.
Oh.
Do you need a hand with those? Thank you.
I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to ask you about your wife.
Mr Bolt, I'm looking for Elspeth.
She's still at the vicarage as far as I know.
Thank you very much.
Any progress? We are pursuing several lines of enquiry, Mr Bolt.
A complete and utter surprise.
It wasn't until the following morning, I realised all her clothes had gone.
Well, Jane and I put two and two together then.
All her clothes had gone? Yes.
Cynthia had her own room in the manor house at that stage.
And her wardrobe and chest were quite empty.
She'd removed herself completely from my life.
Mr Barnaby.
Mr Barnaby.
I'm rather concerned.
I can't rouse Mrs Inkpen-Thomas.
Mrs Inkpen-Thomas? Hello? Elspeth? Stand back.
All these will be a blaze of colour in a few weeks' time.
You really must come and have a look.
I'm ever so sorry, Mr Bennett.
I'm going to have to go now.
Oh, yes, of course you must.
Thank you so much for all your help.
PHONE RINGS Troy.
If I wasn't a deeply religious person I'd think I was bringing some kind of curse on the Inkpens.
Two .
.
two of them I've found dead in the space of 24 hours.
And suicide.
Whilst in my care.
The door was locked.
Key on the inside.
Must my feelings be trampled on instantly? I have now lost a daughter as well as a granddaughter within 24 hours.
I'm not trying to trample on anybody's feelings Mrs Inkpen.
Nevertheless - Suicide is quite impossible.
Unthinkable for an Inkpen.
Nevertheless your daughter did seem deeply upset by Felicity's murder.
The fact that she felt the need to retreat from the family home.
A theatrical gesture.
Elspeth was all show and no substance.
And you have no audience once you're dead.
Gran.
Would you please leave us, Hilary? I can't bear being called "Gran.
" You will appreciate, Mrs Inkpen, despite what you've said about Elspeth, that until the cause of death is established, suicide can't be ruled out.
And in the circumstances - Circumstances? Well, your grand-daughter's murder having occurred just immediately before.
You're suggesting Elspeth killed Fliss then took her own life in a fit of remorse? Well, it's got to be a possibility.
No.
Especially not suicide.
Then what's your view? Two murders in two days, both Inkpens? If you're looking for a common denominator, they'd both been entangled with Daniel Bolt.
If you didn't already know that.
Would it be true to say that you were ambivalent about Elspeth's money making schemes? No, I wasn't ambivalent at all.
I thought them shameful.
Then why didn't you stop them? It's your garden.
Unfortunately not.
I made Inkpen Manor over to Elspeth some time ago.
To avoid inheritance tax.
You have made history.
You heard an Inkpen admit a mistake.
With Elspeth and Fliss both dead, Hilary inherits? Yes.
Depending on the will.
It seems a bit drastic, though, isn't it? To murder your own mother when you know you'll inherit anyway.
Perhaps she couldn't wait for Elspeth to get old.
Perhaps she needs her inheritance in a hurry? Possibly.
But then again, perhaps Naomi was just directing me up the garden path.
She said herself, she's no fool.
Anyway, I don't get the impression there's a lot else left in the family vaults for Hilary to get her hands on.
You don't need a lot else if you've just come into $2.
5 million's worth of property.
So you're going with that then, Hilary prime suspect? No, I'm just saying if she does inherit, she's got a motive.
And if she does or if she doesn't, she could be next on the list.
We're down to one and a half Inkpens, Troy, and counting.
She was one of nature's own.
And where were you when she died? Last night, midnight onwards? Up a tree.
Some strange Midsomer ritual, is this? No.
All right, which tree? In the woods.
Anyone with you? No.
So what exactly were you doing up this tree? Waiting for a badger.
There's a set in the woods next to Rodney Widger's place.
If you're lucky the mother brings her cubs out.
I watch with night glasses.
Keep a safe distance.
Don't want Rodney getting wind of 'em.
Otherwise he'll be out there with his spade and mustard gas.
And did these badgers put in an appearance? No, but Rodney did.
That's bloody nonsense.
I was in all evening and all night.
Wasn't I, Marie? No.
You weren't.
Mr Widger, I have to tell you you were observed leaving home at 11:25pm and returning at 12:35am.
Who by? The damned nosey neighbours? Well, that had nothing to do with Elspeth Inkpen.
Then what did it have to do with? Can we discuss this elsewhere? Certainly.
I knew it.
I knew it.
Did you, Troy? Good.
I didn't tell you where I was when you called me this morning, sir.
No, you didn't.
I went back to Gerald Bennett.
There's a contradiction in the evidence, well - Hey, Troy, take it slowly.
Yes, sir.
Sorry.
The taxi driver's statement in the missing person's file says he collected Cynthia from Inkpen Manor and she only had a shoulder bag.
Yes.
Well, this morning, Gerald Bennett told me that when he and his daughter looked the next day, Cynthia's entire wardrobe had gone.
Well, you can't get an entire wardrobe in a shoulder bag, can you? No, you can't.
But I'm not sure how far this gets us apropos Mr Widger.
Are you? Well, no, sir, not exactly.
Well, you have until this afternoon to find out.
I'd been expecting a visit long before now.
Yes, I'm sorry sir.
We were rather overtaken by events.
Elspeth, you mean? Well it seems to me, Mr Barnaby, that ruling out suicide, as one must - Must one, Mr Deverell? An Inkpen would no more do away with themselves than would a Deverell.
So your view is that Elspeth and Felicity were killed for the same simple reason - the Inkpens' desecration of the memorial garden? Are you giving the remaining two protection? Naomi and the young girl? Violence begets violence, as I'm sure you're professionally aware.
And if there is a lunatic at large, well If there's a lunatic at large, Mr Deverell, no-one is safe.
Ah.
Not an apposite entrance, I assure you.
Allow me to introduce my son, Richard.
Bishop Richard.
Though he rarely does me the honour of dressing as such.
How do you do? How do you do? A chief inspector no less, Richard.
Investigating the demise of the Inkpens.
Yes, I feel I should visit again.
Only having made an identical call just yesterday .
.
one feels entirely inadequate.
You knew Elspeth Inkpen well? From childhood.
I find it impossible to believe she could be murdered over a few rose bushes and a sundial.
You underestimate the good people of Midsomer Deverell, Richard.
But then, you underestimate everyone.
As a matter of routine, I'm obliged to ask your whereabouts last night approximately half an hour either side of midnight? Where I always am at that hour.
Here.
In this chair.
(GASPS) You're just as pretty as any flower in the garden, Hilary.
I don't know why I've never told you before.
Even prettier now you're sad.
You just need someone to help you unfold.
Blossom.
That neck .
.
such a tender stalk.
No.
Why did you lie, Father? To the police.
You weren't here at midnight last night.
Wasn't I? You didn't get home till one.
Well, I'm an old man, Richard.
I'm allowed a lapse of memory.
Where had you been? Visiting at Badger's drift.
(CHUCKLES) Was it really one o'clock? Well, well And where had you been, if impertinent questions are the order of the day? I'd been taking the air.
For so long? I've a lot to think about.
Alright, Mr Widger, perhaps now you'd care to tell us where you went last night? I went to visit a friend.
At the other end of the village.
Charles King.
And he'll verify this, will he? He'd damn well better, we're in this together.
In what? I went to warn him about you.
The police.
About your interest in Cynthia Bennett.
Not that we did anything wrong.
Not to her.
Not to anybody.
It's just that we didn't give an entirely full account.
Well, we didn't give any account at all, in fact.
Five years ago.
Do you know something about the disappearance of Cynthia Bennett? No, no, nothing at all.
It was nothing to do with us.
Mr Widger.
Please.
Cynthia was a veryfriendly lady.
We'd had our ups and downs, mostly over noise.
She liked a lot of noisy modern music, did Cynthia.
But she certainly knew how to get round a chap.
Especially in the last couple of years they lived there.
She got a bit bored, you see.
Like I said, she was a .
.
she was a very friendly lady.
She invited Charles and me to meet her at the Deverell Arms Hotel in Causton.
She'd booked a room.
They don't take a lot of notice there.
She arrived by taxi and we spent the afternoon and evening together.
The three of you? After dark we drove back to Midsomer Deverell, the three of us in Charles' car.
We dropped Cynthia off at the Manor and then we went back to his place for a nightcap.
Then I walked home.
The following day, Cynthia was reported missing.
Charles and I came to the decision that there was nothing to be gained by coming forward.
I mean, what was the point in clouding the issue by publicising our afternoon's entertainment? Did it never occur to you, Mr King, that your silence prevented a proper search being carried out for Mrs Bennett? That assumptions were made that wouldn't have been made if you'd come forward? Shh, shh.
Please.
Wives do have ears you know.
Even if they have nothing between them.
It was sport, Sergeant.
Pure sport.
Well, not entirely pure.
But nothing more, I assure you.
In fact, I experienced a deep sense of loss when Cynthia vanished.
Rather like losing a favourite golf club.
So, George? Not pills, not booze.
Not needles - And no wound.
So now you're going to say you can't tell me anything until you get the toxicology report done, right? Au contraire.
Let me tell you, don't believe this was suicide.
The lab found traces of olive oil and herbs on the bedroom key.
Ah yes, pesto sauce.
There's lots of that in there.
To disguise the taste, which is apparently foul.
The taste of what? Did Mrs Inkpen-Thomas eat anything when she was here, Mrs Millard? No.
No, she didn't.
She wouldn't.
I did offer, of course.
But there was a dish.
A bowl, from the same set as that.
Was there? I didn't notice.
Look, please, why are you dismantling my kitchen? Mrs Millard.
Mrs Millard, we are far from convinced that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas killed herself.
She swallowed a toxic substance, prepared in a kitchen and then mixed with ordinary food.
NoSurely Not here, under my roof.
Is it possible she could've filled the bowl herself? From something she'd cooked here, or something from your larder? Well, possible, while I was at church.
But I don't have a kitchen full of poisons.
Was anyone else in the church? What, at that time of night? In this godless country of ours, we have enough trouble filling the pews on a Sunday morning.
Did you lock the vicarage doors, Mrs Millard, when you went to church? After Mrs Inkpen-Thomas had gone upstairs? No.
I never lock the doors.
It's a point of Christian principle.
So it is possible that someone who knew the house, knew that Mrs Inkpen-Thomas was here, could have gained entry while you were elsewhere? Well, it's possible.
The dog.
Wouldn't the dog have reacted to an intruder? Crispin has a very positive attitude to all humanity.
And your husband, the Vicar.
He's been gone for - how long is it now? Four days.
When d'you expect him back? I don't know.
The day after tomorrow.
Why? What does he think of the Inkpens and their commercial exploitation of the village? He looks for the best in everyone.
Even adulterers? Female adulterers? Jezebels? Oh, yes.
He'd especially try to help them.
And what is your view of such women, Mrs Millard? I firmly believe in the sanctity of marriage and that adultery is a sin.
An old fashioned word that, Mr Barnaby, but perhaps the world would be a better place if more people were prepared to fight sin when and where they find it.
One can take appeasement only so far.
Here you are.
Tom.
You're home very early.
You've caught me digging up rather too much of your lawn.
Yeah, I'm still working actually.
Do you have pictures in those plant encyclopaedias of yours? Yes.
Why? What are you looking up? A for aconite.
What do you think you're doing? Mrs Inkpen.
Well? I am conducting a murder investigation, Mrs Inkpen.
That is what I am doing.
These plants.
Have you picked any of them recently? Of course I haven't.
One doesn't need monkshood in the house when one has plenty of roses.
Monkshood? So you know the common name do you? Then you'll also know these plants are among the most toxic that we grow in the country? Your interest is professional? No, no, it's practical.
So if you don't put them in the house in vases, what do you do with them? We leave them alone.
Well, you should know, Mr Bolt.
Being the gardener.
You eat the roots of this, Troy, cooked or raw, and you're a goner.
And this was crudely done.
George Bullard could still see bits in the stomach contents.
Someone's tried very hard to make it look like a suicide, but the bedroom key has got food on it.
My scenario is that they force-fed Elspeth with this stuff, then put the key back in the lock before they climbed out through the window, leaving her to die horribly.
And she would have died horribly.
Aconite doesn't provide a painless exit.
So we're looking for someone who really, really hated her.
But who, Troy, who? And will they kill again? We need a breakthrough.
Allow me, sir.
See? "This stone laid 18th June 1996 by Gerald Bennett.
" Cynthia Bennett disappeared on the 11th.
Just a week before.
Sir, if you had been very indiscreet, if you regarded the woman you'd been playing away with as a tart and cared more for your social standing than her life, and had murdered her, then what better place to bury her? They're digging a hole.
Who are? The police.
OMINOUS MUSIC Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.
Forgive those sins that destroy our peace on Earth.
Murder, adultery.
I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs Millard.
Dad sent these for the church.
What are they looking for? I really don't know.
But I don't want to watch.
I'm going for a walk.
Would you like to come? But soon, eh? Sir! Cynthia.
TroyTroy? You can't know it's Cynthia.
We'll know by tomorrow, Mr Widger.
The skull has a full set of teeth.
So I'll tell you what I think.
I think that after five years you've finally told the truth .
.
but not the whole truth.
Yes, you and Charles King brought Cynthia back to Inkpen Manor but no, you didn't drop her off, you dropped her in a hole.
You were scared your afternoon's entertainment wouldn't remain a secret, Cynthia would blab.
And being pillars of the community, you wouldn't want that.
So you killed her.
The police are pursuing their enquiries with pick-axes.
I appreciate your coming, Richard.
One can only hope you don't feel obliged to make a third visit.
It hardly seems appropriate to mention it but I shall be leaving at the weekend.
My latest pilgrimage to Rome.
I wish you better fortune this time.
And I'm sure Elspeth would have done the same.
I should like to think so.
What the hell are you playing at, Troy? Fronting up Widger, sir - Yes, and? Well, he denies murder of course but there's still Charles.
There's still a next of kin to be informed, Troy.
To make an identification, even.
I'm sorry, sir.
I was out of order.
Procedurally.
Yeah, yeah.
I'm just wondering if we're not out of order in a more dangerous way.
Have we missed the blindingly obvious? Which is? Gerald Bennett.
Gerald Bennett? He couldn't have whacked Fliss on the head or climbed through a casement window.
Granted.
But he's not always been as frail as he is today.
He is Cynthia's wronged husband and if he did kill her no-one - no-one - had a better opportunity to bury her.
TAP AT DOOR Jane? Hi.
Sorry, darling.
I needed a nap.
Cup of tea? Oh, yes.
Please.
I should go.
Goodbye, Hilary.
I hope we meet again.
KNOCK AT DOOR Mr Bennett? Sorry, you're dead.
And you.
And you were quite lovely, such rare beauty.
Now you simply flowered yourself to death, didn't you? Such exuberance.
Ah, but little aquilegia.
Such .
.
such sweet old-fashioned charm.
Just as beautiful as your showy, glitzy sisters.
Nothing.
No-one seems to have seen her since yesterday evening.
It could have been King, sir, the other party in the hotel room.
He would have had time after I spoke to him.
No, Troy.
There's a daughter here who loved her father very, very much.
A daughter whose face is everywhere.
A daughter who spoke passionately, vehemently, against digging up the memorial garden.
Got to find Jane Bennett.
I thought you'd gone to Rome without telling me.
Just Causton.
To the bank.
There was a phone call.
Father, we need to talk about money.
How do you rate your chances this time, Richard? Election to the sacred college? Well, obviously I'm in the running but it's a very long process.
Certain things still matter though.
Conduct.
Behaviour.
Those found wanting are going to be weeded out.
Do you know how much it would mean to me for you to become a cardinal? You, the last Deverell, being the first ever in 500 years to rise so high.
Father, it's not the be-all and end-all.
Isn't it? It's the only thing I stay alive for.
Father, the bank.
Saw Hilary, did you? When you paid your respects at the Manor? Yes, I saw Hilary.
And what did you think? How did she strike you? I knew where she was going, you see.
And I had a good idea who she was meeting.
It wasn't so much that she was carrying on, It was the fact that she and they, and all the others before them, took such pleasure in Dad not realising.
The smirking and sniggering, the making fun behind his back, I justcouldn't take any more.
So I waited for her to come back from Causton and strangled her with a pair of tights.
She was drunk, and I'mquite strong.
I'd already planned what to do with her.
I rather liked the idea that when the memorial garden was finished, people would walk all over her like she'd walked all over Dad.
So then I cleared her things and hid them in my car and took them to the dump next day.
I knew Widger and King wouldn't come forward when we reported her missing The downside was that Dad actually did miss her.
His health was already deteriorating anyway and the manor just suddenly seemed just too big.
The cottage was right for him, though.
He's been happy there.
Until the Inkpens started digging up the past? If he'd discovered what my mother was really like it would have broken his heart.
He didn't have much time left, anyway.
Better to finish it gently without the truth.
He was such an innocent.
I couldn't bear him to lose that right at the end.
But it's still murder, Miss Bennett.
And you have to understand that, given your very clear reason for not wanting the memorial garden dug up, you are now prime suspect for the deaths of Felicity Inkpen and her mother - what I have done, I have done for my father.
I am not a homicidal maniac.
I hated my mother.
Not the Inkpens.
Others hated them.
Don't build up your hopes.
Not while there are still three of them left.
Merciless bloodsuckers Bloodsuckers.
That's an odd expression in the context of what was going on at Inkpen manor.
She could be winding us up, sir.
She was desperate to stop the digging, and murdering Inkpens was a way of doing it.
Plus she's young and fit, she knows the vicarage and she knows about plants.
If it was just desperation Troy, why kill Elspeth so, so horribly? Why not just strangle her or bash her over the head? Elspeth suffered.
There was real hatred there.
Or stark raving madness.
Yeah possibly.
But hate, Troy, or greed are more common.
Ah, this is from the solicitor.
Elspeth's will.
Ah, don't tell me.
The Gardeners' Benevolent Society? There was no money but the house is left jointly to Hilary and Fliss.
.
.
.
and Daniel Bolt, the gardener.
I do understand why you keep shying away from me, Hilary.
I know what you're thinking.
You're thinking this man made love to my sister and my mother and now they're both dead.
But, if you're honest, don't you agree there's something about death that makes you want to reaffirm life? You shouldn't deny that instinct.
Nature doesn't.
Nature does just what it likes.
Because nature knows what's best.
Instinctively.
The lilium speciosum doesn't mourn.
It just turns its delicate neck to the sun.
Actually I was looking for your father, sir.
Is he at home? No.
No he isn't but do come in.
Please.
Do you know who I am? Mr Richard Deverell, uh, Bishop Richard Deverell.
I have only just found out who I am.
I am was the lover of Elspeth Inkpen.
No.
I knew that, of course.
I am the father of her illegitimate child.
I did not know that.
Hilary Inkpen is my daughter.
And my father, my damnable father has Where is Mr Deverell, please? Gone to see her.
Naomi Inkpen.
To deliver his latest tribute.
She must have cash, it seems.
She must have real money in her hands and it must be placed there by him.
The price is humiliation as well as money The price of what? Her forbearance.
Until I am elected Cardinal.
Rome? The Vatican? You know my father funded the Inkpens' repurchase of their "rightful family home".
It may seem a small enough indiscretion in the modern world to have fathered a child, but my father is convinced otherwise and convinced that the Vatican would share his view.
He's right.
And he is desperate that I should succeed this time.
If you need proof, read the letter.
"My dear Augustus, an ecclesiastical bird has told me that Richard, your Richard, has high hopes of at last fulfilling the Deverell dream.
We Inkpens will hear nothing said against him.
Provided of course, that you honour your obligations to your friends.
In which respect with the recent arrival of Hilary in our midst, we are now in possession of what might be described as the walking DNA proof.
Yours in anticipation.
" Mr Bolt.
Mr Bolt? TELEPHONE RINGS Sir? Troy.
Augustus Deverell is heading for Inkpen manor.
Stop him.
Don't let him get near to Naomi.
I'll be with you in a few minutes.
Excuse me! Not now, Mr Widger.
I've been burgled! Not interested.
You damn well will be.
Augustus.
Such old-world punctuality.
Mrs Inkpen? Mrs Inkpen? She's not in the garden.
GUNSHOT All right, Gran? Smell the blood? You like the blood, don't you? A bit of "DNA proof", as it says in the letter? And I was stupid enough to think I was wanted here.
Not loved, I never hoped for that, not from you anyway But I wasn't even wanted, was I? Was I? Not even by Mum.
Not wanted for myself.
Just used Just turned to advantage.
Yes, look away.
What did the three of you do? Get it out and gloat over it once a week? Why else keep a copy in the house? Fliss laughed so much when she told me, when she read that out.
Fliss was a stupid little bitch.
Dead little bitch now.
She opened my eyes so I opened her head.
But she's the only one of you I've killed in anger.
I took pleasure over Mum.
I stuffed her bloody garden right down her throat.
And I'm going to make a mess of you.
Because you don't like mess.
Everything must be just so, mustn't it.
On the outside.
Well I don't want you going to hell looking tidy! Mrs Millard? Sergeant Troy.
Chief inspector Barnaby just thought we ought to let you know we shan't be needing your kitchen utensils any more.
Poor Hilary Yes.
And poor Jane Bennett.
It's most troubling to one's conscience that some crimes seem entirely justified.
Jane's is one of them.
I've always felt, as I told Mr Barnaby, that adultery is one of the most despicable of all human activities.
Nice patio.
New? Very.
I find hard work an aid to prayer and there has been so much to pray about recently.
And, uh, still no vicar? Good evening.
Arthur, this is Sergeant Troy.
How do you do.
Hello.
Would you care to join us for tea and an ecumenical debrief? Uh, no.
Thank you.
It's a relief, I mean, a pleasure to meet you, Vicar.
I'd best be off.
Bye, Crispin.
DOG BARKS And as well as the White Bedder, I've brought you a few Pennington gems Oh, that's very kind of you, Daniel.
Bear in mind the White Bedder is vigorous and very erect, so make sure you put it where you want it, otherwise it's likely to, um, overshadow lesser plants.
Yes, I see.
I'd be quite happy to come back and make sure everything's nicely .
.
bedded in? Ah, Mr Barnaby.
Right, well uh, I'll be off then.
I was going to offer him a drink.
I think he had some propagating to do elsewhere.
Come on, I'll make you one.
Is there any lawn left to sit on? Closed Captions by CSI