New Tricks s05e05 Episode Script

After hearing the guilty verdict, Deputy Assistant Commissioner Robert Strickland said - It is hard to comprehend how a detective of McAdam's rank and experience could have deceived his fellow officers for so long.
Cos you were in charge of him, you pillock! As a result of today's verdicts we will now undertake a full review of all the major investigations led by DCI McAdam during the last 15 years.
Ouch! 15 years.
Pity the poor bastards who have got to sort that lot out.
Yespity.
But it's nothing to do with us! Those are all closed cases.
All except this one.
No way.
You don't want to do it? No.
1998, a 26-year-old named Graham Thompson drowned in a vat of beer.
Felspar's Brewery, Hoxton.
As in the still functioning, still making beer, Felspar's.
OK.
Fair enough.
Felspar's.
I must have drunk gallons of the stuff.
We could have a little look.
Wouldn't hurt.
It's all right It's OK Doesn't really matter if you're old and grey It's all right I say it's OK Listen to what I say It's all right, doing fine Doesn't really matter if the sun don't shine It's all right I say it's OK We're gettin' to the end of the day.
Graham Thompson, Assistant Brewer at Felspar's.
Last seen by his girlfriend, Anna Hodgkiss, on 27th November 1998.
Ten days later, he was found by chief brewer Malcolm Hagley at the bottom of this fermentation tank.
What beer was it? Pardon? What sort of beer? In the tank? I don't know.
Felspar's Far-Reaching Bitter.
There was no sign of foul play, but his body had deteriorated so badly it could only be identified from dental records.
They don't make it any more.
What? Far-Reaching Bitter.
Shame.
Wonderful beer! Felspar's Fighting Bitter, they used to call it.
Did they? Owd Winkle.
That was my tipple.
It was some brew, that.
The only thing that remained intact were his work clothes and some malted barley found in the pockets.
They're being sent over later.
Specific gravity 1,062 degrees.
6% alcohol! Four pints of that and You get an "Owd winkle".
Thompson, a Glaswegian, had no living relatives.
He was very well-liked so his death may well have been an accident, but it was unusual and therefore suspicious.
More to the point, it was left unsolved by a bent copper.
Any thoughts? What a fabulous way to go.
Malcolm Hagley created Far-Reaching Bitter.
South of England Best Bitter five years in a row.
Five times on the trot! If there was a Hall of Fame for Brewers, he'd be numero uno, this bloke.
I mean, could you remember the first time you had a pint of that, hey? Leave it out, will you? That first pint never touched the sides.
Gerry, I'm an alcoholic.
I know.
A little sensitive, aren't you? Shut up! Morning.
G'morning, gentlemen.
I presume you are Jehovah's Witnesses.
In which case I must inform you that I am an adherent of the Church of Rome.
Wiedersehen.
Graham was very clever.
Lovely boy.
Great nose Nose? For beer.
It's very important.
You found his body.
It was terrible.
He fell in and he couldn't get out.
You think so, do you? Well, don't you? Well, that's what we're trying to find out.
So, how come you didn't spot the body till the vat was emptied? All the foam.
He was stuck at the bottom, just like the drayman.
Sorry? Drayman and Lady Isabella.
Wife of Lord Ivor Felspar.
1780.
Caught her in flag in fla In flagrante? At it with a drayman.
His Lordship threw her off the brewing tower and drowned the drayman in a tank of beer, in the very same room where Graham Thompson died.
Their ghosts wander the brewery at night, even to this day .
.
night.
Really?! I know.
I've seen them.
Saw them the night Graham disappeared.
Makes you think, doesn't it? So you were in the brewing tower the night Thompson went missing? But you didn't see him? So what were you doing there? It's a full moon.
Every brewer knows there are special times to add your ingredients.
Hops.
Barley.
It's a very mysterious process, brewing.
It's very scary, very frightening.
What, finding Thompson? Ghosts.
Thompson was my prot pro Protege.
Yeah, but he was sneaky.
Wanted to be Chief Brewer.
He Terrible shame.
Terrible accident.
Thank you, Doctor Lilwall.
Call me Steve.
OK.
I'll take all this stuff away, re-examine it and see what gives.
Soon as I have any results I'll touch base.
Terrific, thanks a lot.
You do realise how lucky you are? Most forensic scientists won't do their thing outside the lab.
But we're cool.
Wonder if Steve's short for prat? So, what do you think? Well, a sloppy, corrupt cop works the case, the dead man's girlfriend is convinced it wasn't an accident, and now his ex-boss, there on the night, lets slip he wasn't exactly enamoured with his Protege.
Yeah.
He was half-pissed.
In vino veritas.
In vino maybe, but after 15 cans of Special Brew, I'm not so sure.
So, next step, we check out the brewery.
I agree.
And I think you need your most experienced man.
I think you need an expert on beer.
I am an expert on beer.
Actually, I think you need someone who doesn't drink.
I think you should all go.
Yeah, fair enough.
OK.
I'll catch you later.
I've got to see my mum.
Good afternoon, gentlemen.
Wilfred Felspar, but call me Freddie, everyone does.
Freddie.
I'm Jack Halford.
How do, Jackie.
Er this is Gerry Standing.
How do.
Brian Lane.
How do.
Hello.
Now time? One fifty-five! Cometh the hour.
We'll knock some cobwebs off these lovelies and get cracking.
Till then sad old business.
Graham Thompson.
I'm sorry.
It's just that young Thommo he was he was one of the best.
Absolutely brilliant young feller.
Destined to be one of the greats.
Greats? Brewers, Gary.
Brewers.
Yes, boy was a genius, and I use the word advisedly.
Only with us for five years but by heavens, did he make his mark.
I loved him.
Loved him like a son.
Oh, talk of the devil.
These chaps are here about young Thommo, Julian.
Not a good memory for dad.
Nor for any of us.
Julian Felspar.
Chief Executive.
Yeah, Julian is running the whole show now, the face of modern brewing.
I'm just the old buffer fronting up and glad-handing really.
And how's the old buffer been looking after you? Well, he was just about to offer us a beer, actually.
Yes.
That's his usual PR ploy.
No drink for me.
I'm an alcoholic.
So, ever been round a brewery? No.
Oh, my Lord.
That is a hole in your education.
Let's put it to right.
Let's go.
Now this is the actual room where Graham Thompson died.
It's where the beer finally matures before barrelling.
Yes, it's changed a lot since Thommo's time.
Only one of the old tanks left.
I still don't like to come here very often.
I see you've CCTV cameras now.
That was part of a semi-rationalisation back in 2000.
And to ensure that what happened to Graham never occurs again.
And what do you think did happen to Graham Thompson? Well, as I said back then, I think he was in here checking the brew and he just conked out.
Fell in.
During fermentation there's a lot of CO2 given off.
If you're not very careful, it can make you ill.
Kick like a mule.
I think Thommo was overcome by the fumes and he You don't think he was murdered? Murdered? No! Why? I heard he was unhappy.
Rubbish.
If he had been, I would have been the first to know about it.
Would Hagley have known? Malcolm? Malcolm loved Thommo.
Everyone did.
No, they were a team incredibly successful team.
Can I ask, where were you the night Graham went missing? At home, with my wife.
She was dying.
My father is a very emotional man.
Yeah, so is Malcolm Hagley.
"Tired and emotional".
Has he had a drink problem for long? Quite a while.
What, since before Thompson died? Yeah.
Why did you keep him on? I didn't.
Soon as I took over the business in 2000 I er .
.
retired him.
That must have been a bit dangerous Hagley's drinking? Yeah.
But then it's a constant dilemma in a wet brewery.
Wet? Breweries are either wet or dry, depending on whether the workers are allowed to drink or not.
In a wet one they can.
And Felspar's is wet, yeah? Absolutely bloody soaking.
This is my sister, Jacinta.
I understand you're here about poor old Graham? You knew Graham Thompson? He was a sweetie.
I don't recall you being interviewed in the original investigation.
I was in hospital.
Jacinta Did you want something? Don't worry, I'm not here to see you! I was looking for Daddy.
Er, will it be possible to talk to you at some point? Yes, of course.
Au revoir.
My sister is an acquired taste.
You don't get on.
She seemed to get on with Thompson.
And how about you, sir? Where were you on the night Thompson died? In hospital with Jack Jacinta.
Holding her hand.
All night? Two nights and three days.
I haven't been in a Felspar's pub for years.
Not surprised if they're all like this.
What have they done to it? It used to be a pub.
When did they stop making Far-Reaching, d'you remember? This is their new bitter.
"Mop Top"? These are pictures of Felspar's.
Old ones showing the brewing process.
Not one that did this.
Blimey, this is Piss.
My God, that's bad.
Welcome to The Autopilot.
Indulge yourself in the unique Felspar's leisure experience What does that mean? It means the beer's piss.
Hello, could I have a dry white Sandra, Sandra, I've got it.
Oh, sorry.
How's your mum? Er, yeah, getting there.
This is nice.
Nice? How? Gastro-pub.
As in gastro-enteritis? Reminds me of Julian's office - marketing over content.
Who's Julian? Julian Felspar, son of Sir Freddie, now the Chief Executive of Felspar's plc, and brother to Jacinta.
Neither of whom McAdam bothered to interview.
Weird, the lot of them.
And that's Brian talking.
Think House of Usher.
Daddy loved Thommo, but won't hear a bad word about Hagley, unlike son Julian, who doesn't get on with his sister Jacinta and the feeling's mutual, but she gets all perky when you mention the name Thompson.
Look at this.
"South of England Best Beer, December 2nd 1997.
"Felspar's Far-Reaching Bitter.
"Five times a winner!" Now Freddie said that Thompson was only there for five years, which coincides with the exact same five years they won the award.
There you are.
"South of England Real Ale Show.
"Now at the Jubilee Exhibition Hall.
" Perfect opportunity to talk to people who might have known our man.
Whatever.
Take Brian.
And I think that Jacinta could be very helpful.
I know you do.
That's why I'm coming with you.
Ah, thank you.
Ah, Stevie Swaithling? Yeah? Bloody hell, you're a woman! You new men and your chat-up lines! Sorry.
My name's Halford, Jack Halford and this is Brian Lane.
We're from the Unsolved Crime And Open Case Squad.
I wonder if we could have a word with you? Yeah, of course.
Carry on, I'll be back in a bit.
Do you want to go and sit down? Thank you.
We're re-examining the death of Graham Thompson.
Graham Thompson? That was terrible.
He was a genius.
Lovely bloke, too.
So I heard.
You knew him well then? Everyone knew about Graham, even before he left university.
University? Leeds.
Degree in Brewing Science.
Shall we sit? Degree? In brewing?! Oh, yeah.
Graham was head-hunted even before he left, but Sir Freddie got to him first.
Smart move.
Graham transformed Felspar's from just OK to magnificent.
Far-Reaching Bitter was created by Malcolm Hagley.
No! No, Malcolm made the stuff, but everyone knew who was really responsible.
Did Hagley know everybody knew? I mean, was he jealous? You think Graham was killed? By Malcolm Hagley? Only thing Malcolm ever killed was a pint! Far-Reaching Bitter didn't win in 1998.
Why not? It wasn't any good.
That's why there was such a huge row.
Row? With Sir Freddie.
Accused us of not storing it properly, accused the winners of tampering with it, accused just about everybody.
Truth was it just wasn't Far-Reaching Bitter, not the one we all knew and loved.
Is it true that brewers work at odd times, like during the night, say, or full moon? Oh, yeah, the superstitious ones.
Yeah, they do all sorts.
So who did win the Best Beer in '98? Er, Pole Star SA.
Very nice pint.
What will you have? Don't worry, there's not a hint of Felspar's in the whole apartment.
But the brewery paid for most of this, didn't it? I got this the hard way.
I married someone.
Tell me about it.
We won't, thanks.
You're not married any more? No.
It was brief.
He was Belgian.
You said that Graham Thompson was "sweet".
How sweet? Oh, bless you.
My taste doesn't stretch to horny-handed sons of toil.
Besides, I prefer my lick of Scotch in a glass.
How did he and Malcolm Hagley get on? Fine.
But I'm not really an habitue of the brewing tower.
Julian said that you and he don't see eye to eye.
He's an older brother.
He's very bossy.
Overprotective.
About what? I said Graham was not my type.
He had enough on his plate with that angry little hairdresser, don't you think? You mean Anna Hodgkiss? Yes.
I only ever saw her twice, but both times she was going off at him like a Catherine wheel.
What were the rows about? No idea.
It was beyond the windows of my brother's office.
And you didn't hear what was said? I was taught it was rude to listen in on other people's misery.
May I ask you two a question? Are you lovers? So you like our product.
I like the beer.
As they say in the US, "Beer should be sexy, too".
You not having one? I'm an alcoh He's driving.
Actually, we're looking into the death of Graham Thompson.
Former Assistant I know who he was.
By reputation.
Did you ever try to employ him? I mean, back in 1998? In '98, I couldn't have afforded Thompson's socks.
Back then, Pole Star was a microbrewery turning out less than a thousand gallons a month.
I got the idea in Boston.
Microbreweries are a big thing there.
Low costs, low overheads.
Although I can't say it's ever quite that simple, is it? Probably still be there if we hadn't won Best Beer.
Thompson dying was a big slice of luck for you, then? Apparently, Sir Freddie Felspar felt the same.
He accused you of tampering with his beer.
No-one took that seriously! Anyhow, I like Freddie.
His son's a different matter.
You know Julian? I was at uni with him.
Business studies, which is a joke, given how he runs his.
He'd sell his own mother to turn a profit.
Not even interested in the brewery.
Felspar's pubs make most of their money now with food, which is why their beer's so sh Call that beer, Jopling? I can piss better than that! Pole Star? Should call it bloody Cold Sore.
I know you, Jopling.
I know all about you.
With your fancy ties and your tarts and your stupid haircut You're a f You're a fraud! Maybe he thinks your beer's a little TOO sexy.
No, Gerry! On the mat.
How many times? Cup of tea? Please.
Hagley's in a cell in Kensington, unconscious.
The good news is his blood-alcohol level should get him in the Guinness Book of Records.
Very long time to hold a grudge.
It's a lot more than that.
Hopefully, when he sobers up we'll find out what.
How did you get on? Enjoy yourself with Jacinta? No, not really.
I don't fancy her.
I'm sure she'll get over it.
No, you don't understand.
I don't fancy her.
It's weird.
Maybe you're finally emerging from puberty.
Sorry, yes, I'm here.
Ah, here we go.
"Julian Felspar, Felspar Breweries Limited.
" Blah blah blah blah blah.
"BSc Business Studies, 1990 to 1993, Leeds University.
" He kept that one quiet.
Let's try Jopling.
Yes, "Pole Star Brewery.
" "The boss's blog, by Tony Jopling.
"About me" Egomaniac.
"You probably want to know what kind of guy builds a business success story from scratch.
" Egomaniac tosser.
Blah blah blah blah blah.
"Masters Degree in Business Management, Harvard, after a degree in Business Studies from" Don't tell me, Leeds University? In one.
And again, 1990 to 1993.
And Sandra tells me that sweet .
.
that sweet little Anna might not be so sweet after all.
What, you think Jacinta's lying? Oh, no, her alibi checks out.
She was at the Wellesley Park Private Clinic, where super-rich ladies go when they're having trouble with their bits.
Gynaecological.
Well, she was there from the 27th to the 29th of November, as was Julian, who was keeping her company in a luxurious family suite.
What about Sir Freddie? His wife died at home on November 30th of cancer, and Freddie was at her bedside.
Had been there all week, apparently.
There was a Dr Morgan, the family GP, who signed the death certificate.
According to him, Freddie was devoted to her.
Well, what we do know is Julian, Jopling and Thompson were all at Leeds together, even though Jopling reckons he only knew Thompson by reputation.
Correct.
And in '98, when Thompson goes missing and Felspar's bitter goes off, Jopling wins Best Beer.
Evening, all! Thought I'd stop by, give you the bad news mano a mano.
The tests on Thompson's clothing were negative.
No blood, DNA, nothing to help you.
Is that it, "Steve"? Well, actually, there is one odd thing.
It's GM barley.
Who's he? No, the barley in Thompson's coat pockets.
It's genetically modified.
Illegal.
Even more so back in 1998.
I'm having the DEFRA labs do further tests done to try and find its provenance.
Place of origin.
Soon as the word's solid, I'll blip it on to you.
Ciao! One of these days, I'm gonna blip him.
So Anna was right, there WAS trouble at the brewery.
So, Julian, would you care to let us know why you didn't mention that you were at university with Graham Thompson? Well, we shared a flat for a while, but I only did Brewing Science for three months.
I swapped courses, Graham didn't.
Brewing was his life.
He was a good guy, but obsessed.
In 1998, whose job was it to order the company's supplies? Hops, barley, so forth? Used to be Malcolm, and then I took over at the end of the year.
Because? Well, I felt that Malcolm was too Pissed? Profligate.
Why, is it important? You never know in this job.
Feeling better? Give me a drink.
What, so you can have another go at Jopling? I need a drink.
No, you don't.
You want one.
It's not the same thing.
You don't understand.
No? Try this.
You feel like death.
If you don't have a drink, you'll die, or worse, you'll sober up.
But if you sober up, you'll have to think about something.
If you think about anything, it'll be how much you hate yourself and how much better off everyone would be if you were dead.
But that would mean killing yourself.
You haven't got the courage for that.
So, you have a drink.
Who are you? That's better.
Only, I ask the questions, OK? Now, why did you go mad at Jopling yesterday? Who? Tony Jopling.
Pole Star.
At the beer festival.
He I don't know.
OK, let's go back a bit further, shall we? 1998, the year Thompson died.
You ordered some barley.
Oh, er, yeah, maybe.
Yes.
Ordered it just before the beer festival.
You remember? Malcolm? Hm? It was GM barley.
Genetically modified barley.
Yes, you, Malcolm.
You got hold of it.
But it's not allowed in this country.
So, where did you get it? What are you talking about? I don't know what you're talking about.
Leave me alone! Malcolm! Look at me! KNOCK AT DOOR Did you order GM barley? Stop it, please! Brian, Steve's on his way.
He's got something "wicked" to tell us.
Hi, guys.
Check this out.
The barley in the dead man's pockets is a strain called cerebus, developed by Distance Agritech of the US.
They applied to trial the grain in Europe in 1993 but were refused an import licence.
Cerebus was up to 30% cheaper than most conventional barley at the time.
But when it failed its licence, it became more or less worthless for export.
Cool, huh? Distance Agritech.
"Taking cereals to a new level.
" HQ, Boston, Massachusetts.
As in the Boston where Jopling got his big idea? What if Jopling got Hagley to sabotage Felspar's beer so Pole Star could win at Olympia? Thompson found out about it, so Jopling killed him.
That would explain why Hagley's so angry, so ashamed.
Guys, if you're looking to prove this there is a slight problem.
Without samples of the beer at the time to analyse, there's no way of proving GM barley was or wasn't in this or that beer.
Well, there is a way of solving the problem.
I'm not going to like this, am I? Sorry it's so late, Freddie.
Not at all, but I'm afraid you won't see much at the moment.
Everyone's rattling off home.
Oh, that's all right.
I just want to whizz through, reacquaint myself with the geography.
I'll wait here, then.
We're in.
Gerry! Argh! Oh, bloody hell, Brian, what do you think you're doing? I've been through those supply order files.
Nothing.
Now, I want to have another look at those tanks.
Be careful.
Idiot! At the Real Ale Show when Thompson was missing, you accused Tony Jopling of sabotaging your beer.
I was very upset, very stressed at the time.
What with my wife Are you now saying that he didn't interfere with your beer? Er, Sir Freddie, is there something you know about Jopling which for some reason you feel you don't, erm? No.
No, I don't.
Oh! Oh, er, are you all right? Are you OK, Brian? I am fine, thank you, Jack! Er, thank you, Freddie.
Are you raving mad? What was I supposed to do? Well, what about Brian? He'll think of something.
Hello? Oi! You've locked me in! Beer.
Felspar's Fighting Bitter.
Now, that's three bottles each for every year from '92 to '98.
Well, that should be enough for the doc to analyse, shouldn't it? If it's OK.
Oh, no, they're all full.
No, no, no, no, no, I mean, if it hasn't gone off.
Let's see, erm, "Best before 07/96".
No, that date thing's just for health and safety, innit? To cover 'em for insurance purposes.
Steve's only going to need one bottle, isn't he? For each year? And the lab can only tell you so much.
I mean, it's all about taste.
Jack, you're brilliant.
(LAUGHS) SLURRING: Would you pass me my crocodile? It is time to eat my cheese and pantaloons.
Looks good.
Mm, smells good! (HOWLS) No! No! No! NO! '92, '93, '94, '95, '96 and '97.
I particularlarlarlary like the '96.
So, now for the '98.
Let's go back to the '92.
Try taking a few deep breaths.
(BURPS) Thank you.
What are you doing here? Sorry about that.
I was with your father, and the next thing I know, he's gone.
Well, it's lucky for you we got CCTV.
Two deaths could hardly both be accidents.
Just in time, I found you just in time Before you came, my time was running low Exhibit A.
Where are the samples? I mean the ones with the beer still in them.
You want a fight? What?! Oh, no, no, no, Gerry, leave it.
It's not worth it.
You think you're so clever, don't you? HUH? How is it? It's fine.
It's fine.
Honestly, I don't mind.
If you don't like it, you can say.
I just thought it would be nice for me to bring you something.
And for us to spend an evening together.
Because you've got something to tell me, you said.
Something important.
Again.
When he died, Dad was in trouble.
He was in a lot of trouble.
He was being investigated by the CIB for unlawfully killing someone.
I'm trying to find out why.
But it's really difficult, because it's such a long time ago.
Man or woman? A man.
But I think it was because of a woman.
Who was it, the person he killed? It was someone called Ian Randle.
The woman, and I don't know her name, she was a prostitute.
Did you know he was seeing someone else? He called me by the wrong name.
The first time it happened, we made a joke of it.
And then he did it again, just before he died.
At the wrong time, in the wrong place.
"Deirdre.
" I mean, imagine? Just the sound of it.
"Deirdre.
" Men are so bloody strange.
I know.
I don't think I'll ever understand them.
That's cos there really isn't very much to understand.
So, if Hagley was delirious on CO2, it would explain why he thought he saw ghosts.
But, of course, like me, the apparitions he saw were almost certainly real people.
Now, November 27th, 1998 was a full moon.
Hagley was there, brewing away, probably drinking as well.
The fumes kicked in The alcohol kicked in, and it all went a bit weird.
Sound familiar? Good morning.
Well, for you, as it happens, yes.
From the limited residue I was able to recover from the bottles, tests show that one of them did contain traces of genetically modified material.
The cerebus GM barley.
Correct.
The bottle of Far-Reaching Bitter from 1998.
OK.
Thank you.
What do we say, boys? Thanks, Steve.
Sorry, Steve.
I also found on the other bottles traces of E.
coli, campylobacter and salmonella as well.
Enjoy PHONE RINGS Hello? Right.
Malcolm Hagley.
He wants to meet me for a chat.
He offered me money.
What? Money.
A bribe.
Who? Who do you think? How do you explain your attempt to bribe Malcolm Hagley? Cerebus barley was developed in Boston whilst you were there.
I think you had it imported illegally to the UK with the intention of adding it to the Far Reaching brew in order to sabotage it.
That's ridiculous.
You thought Malcolm Hagley would be amenable because you knew he resented Thompson.
So, that night, you went to the brewing tower.
Only problem was, Hagley was unwell, delirious from the effects of too much CO2.
And to make matters worse, Thompson turned up, as well.
You're making this up.
I think you murdered Graham Thompson.
And I'm not making that up.
I didn't do it! I wasn't there, I swear to God! I'm giving you a chance to explain, and it's your last chance.
Look, yeah, OK, I tried to bribe him, but that was to try and get the recipe for Far Reaching Bitter.
Anyway, he said "No.
" He knocked me back.
So did Stevie.
I don't know anything about any GM barley.
Stevie Swaithling? You tried to bribe her to win Best Beer? No, to get Thompson's recipe.
She was knocking him off.
Yeah! Mad about him.
Why didn't you tell us you were having an affair with Graham Thompson? I didn't see that it was anyone's business.
You mean you didn't want to be a suspect in a murder inquiry.
Me? I loved him.
But he didn't love you, did he? I don't know what you're trying to say.
I'm saying that he didn't want to see you any more.
You don't understand.
What hurt most, being rejected for a hairdresser or just someone younger? My God, you don't think there was just two of us, do you? Women liked Graham.
Lots of women.
Hm! Where you going? Well, you know me, Jack - workaholic.
DOORBELL RINGS You're a very bad man.
So all my exes say.
Do you often eat alone? Yes.
That way I'm with someone who cares.
Yeah, I know how you feel.
I often prefer the food to the partners.
But talking of partners, you said your marriage was brief.
But getting married, separating and divorcing all within the space of 18 months, that really is going some, even for me.
Raphael Schamp? It's pronounced "Shom".
Ah, right.
Belgian brewing heir.
You must have had a lot in common.
No.
So why marry him? None of your business.
OK.
Then why did he divorce you? He did divorce you, and not the other way round.
Was it because he realised that you didn't love him? Because you were still holding a torch for someone else, even though that someone else was dead? No.
Raphael divorced me because he found out I couldn't have children, thereby failing to ensure both his and my dynastic brewing heritage.
"The inheritance of waste," to paraphrase my stupid family motto.
Now, if you don't mind, I and my salsiccia linguini would like to get to know each other alone.
A Belgian multimillionaire marries someone without knowing whether they can have kids or not? Who says romance is dead(?) She may not have realised until after she was married.
Sandra, she spent three days in the Wellesley Park Private Clinic! Of course she knew! All right, but what's that got to do with GM barley? More to the point, what's that got to do with Thompson's death? Well, it's got something to do with it.
With her.
I don't know, she gives out this really unhappy feeling.
I've met women like her before.
I bet you have.
I don't want to upset your "feelings", but as far as I'm concerned, they're no substitute for facts or evidence, both of which we have just about bugger all.
So, tomorrow morning, we're going to come back in and we're going to start all over again.
Wait a minute, where are you going? To get some facts! What about her? Mobile! Ah, yeah, yeah.
Hi.
Hi.
Erm, can you put me through to your cereals department, please? Night! Good night, Sandra.
Night.
Ah, hi.
Brian? Phone me.
Sorry, sorry, yes.
My name's Malcolm Hagley.
I'm just checking on a consignment I ordered from you several years ago.
I hope you've chained your bike to something strong.
I'll tell you what.
There is no way she is visiting a boyfriend.
Not here.
That's a very classist remark.
What, you think she's decided she wants a hoodie as a soul mate? She might surprise you.
She might be a lot more open to change than you think.
Well, her car certainly is.
Jean Bennett? I understand you used to know Deirdre Mortimer.
Oh, please, no.
No, no, Jean, wait, please.
I'm a police officer.
Look, look.
OK? In 1973, you and Deirdre were arrested for soliciting, and Ian Randle, your pimp, was charged with living off immoral earnings.
I don't know what you're talking about.
My father was Gordon Pullman, the man who's supposed to have killed Ian Randle.
All I'm trying to do is find out the truth about my dad.
Please help me.
Look, it's just a simple misunderstanding.
Yeah, well, me gonna misunderstand your arse, Granddad.
Oi! Get in the car.
Hey, check out Granddad's biatch.
Delta Charlie One to Control.
Can you please send armed back-up to Hurst Tower on the Mears Estate? We have several hooded perps, possibly armed, assaulting three pensioners.
"Pensioners"?! Oh, it's your mobile.
Nice one.
Care to explain? You first.
Do you fancy a drink? Sure.
You don't know that what she told you is true.
No, I don't.
And even if it was, there's no way you could prove it.
That's not what I'm looking for, Jack.
So, this woman says your dad did it to save a child's life? Mm-hm.
Well, I buy that.
Talking of child's lives, I think you should know that 90% of the admissions to the Wellesley Park Clinic are for terminations.
How d'you know that? It's the old Ways And Means Act.
It's not how you know, it's who you know.
Jacinta was in there for three days.
Abortions don't take that long, even in a private clinic.
Not unless something goes wrong.
There's more.
I rang Distance Agritech.
They've no record of selling anything to a Malcolm Hagley, but they do have a record of selling it to someone in the US, someone who told them they were setting up a microbrewery there.
Jopling? No.
Ah! Thank you for coming, Ms Felspar.
I just wanted to check exactly who was where on the night Thompson died.
Now, you were in a private clinic.
Can you tell me, what was the nature of your illness? I don't see that's any of your business.
I'm sorry, but I think we've reached the point where it IS my business.
Julian, you were there.
Can you tell me? Well, I really think that's for my sister to say.
You're very sensitive to your sister's wishes all of a sudden, given that you're not that close.
But then, I reckon you've never been close to anyone, certainly not Graham Thompson.
That's not true! Thommo and Julian got on famously together.
Sir Wilfred, I know this is very difficult for you, but please, you must listen.
Your father obviously loved Thompson, saw him as the son that he wished he'd had.
So, he was a direct threat to your future.
You think I killed Graham? The night he died, I was with my sister.
Holding her hand? I don't think even close relatives get to hold the hand of someone who's having an abortion.
Why can't you have children, Jacinta? What was it? An infection? Ectopic pregnancy? I'm truly sorry.
You lied to us, Julian.
You told us that Hagley ordered supplies up to 1998.
Which is true.
What you didn't say was that early that year you purchased supplies of genetically modified barley in the United States and had it shipped to the UK.
That was to reduce costs.
Even if that were true, it still wrecked Thompson's landmark beer, and he found out, about the same time that you found out your sister was pregnant by him.
No! A possible heir for Sir Freddie? I don't think so.
Jack? Tell them, Jack.
Tell us what? That you made sure she had an abortion? An operation that went so badly wrong it left her infertile? No! No! Jacinta, please! No wonder she hates you.
Look, we don't believe you set out to kill Thompson.
We think you just wanted him fired.
I didn't kill Graham! I wasn't anywhere near here that night.
Look at your sister, Julian.
Tell her it wasn't true.
Jacinta, please.
Help me! You kill a man to save your inheritance.
No! I did not do that! No? No! Why not? Because the child wasn't his! And how would you know that? Because it was mine.
You satisfied? The child was mine.
Mine Stop it! Stop this! My son never killed Thommo.
I did.
Sir Wilfred, please Shut up! It was me.
Do you understand? It was me.
Thommo, erm, Graham Thompson, he came to see me.
He was very unhappy.
He'd discovered that someone had tried to add cheap, poor-quality grain to the mash brew.
He confronted Malcolm Hagley, but he denied it.
Then he found out who had actually got hold of the barley.
Julian? Yeah.
So, he arranged to meet me at night in the brewery.
I left my wife, she was pumped full of diamorphine, and I went to the fermentation room.
Thommo was there.
He asked me to try the barley, taste it.
He was right.
He insisted that I sack Julian.
And you wouldn't? No.
No, I told him that the brewery was a family business.
The name over the gate was Felspar, not Thompson.
What was his reaction? He said the beer was his, not ours.
"In that case", I said, "you can take it with you.
You're fired.
You're just a brewer, not family.
" "No," he said.
"If I was family, I'd be sleeping with my own sister, like Julian does.
" Then what? I lashed out.
He was taken by surprise.
He fell backwards into the vat.
He couldn't get out.
Look, I tried to help him, I tried to reach in, pull him out, but I couldn't.
I couldn't get him out.
And then I saw Malcolm.
He must have seen everything, but he didn't even know who I was, thought I was a ghost.
I never let my children know that I knew, but I did.
I knew something was not right.
I blame myself.
My wife and I, we scarcely saw them, even in the holidays.
They grew up with only themselves, without any love save their own.
I blame myself.
Think he'll go down? Manslaughter.
I don't think he cares.
Why didn't Jacinta say something? What could she say in front of her dad? Well, I told you there was something weird going on.
Seeing as you were so right, you can so write this one up.
Good night.
Good night.
Night.
Yeah, good night(!) The last one.
What a shame(!)