Endeavour Page #2

He's in carpets.

Traveling.

We're not together any more.

You're close to your sister,

Mrs. Veelie?

Not really.

All this fuss.

It'll just be some stunt.

Attention seeking.

What makes you say that?

'Cause she's always

been the same.

When Mum was alive,

she spoiled her rotten.

Dad, too.

Whatever she wanted.

Their blue-eyed girl.

Silly little cow.

It's definitely why

the police were here.

Nobody has seen her.

Do you think she knows

something?

Don't know, does she?

How would she know?

Extension two-double-five.

Yes, I'll hold.

Morning.

AVG, aye.

What you got there, then?

Mary Tremlett's poetry books.

Well, what's all that about?

Well, don't know yet.

Nothing, probably.

Bloody hell've you been?

Got a suicide in Thrupp.

Unidentified male.

You're on.

How am meant to get there?

Want me to wipe your ares

for you and all?

Use your initiative.

Morning.

Not for this poor sod.

You are whom?

Morse.

Detective Constable.

On attachment from Newtown.

You're the pathologist,

presume?

Better hope so, hadn't you?

Otherwise I'm making one hell of

a mess of your scene of crime.

Max DeBryn.

Is it a scene of crime?

Initial reports

suggested suicide.

Looks to be.

Single entry wound

on the right temple.

Typical starburst

gunpowder pattern

on the skin

surrounding the wound

together with contact scorching

would suggest the weapon

was discharged

at point blank range.

As you can see.

I'll take your word for it.

Squeamish, are we?

You won't make

much of a detective

if you're not prepared

to look death in the eye.

Find me when you're done.

Finished?

The hors d'oeuvres.

Entree this afternoon,

3:
00 sharp.

You can give me your findings

over the telephone, can't you?

You know, there's a word

for people like you, Morse.

Is there?

Necrophobic.

A word for people

like you too, imagine.

Anglo-Saxon, though,

rather than Greek.

Weapon's a Webley.

Mark VI, if you're interested.

.455,

standard army issue.

Not entirely a fool, then.

Not entirely.

Time of death?

Yesterday.

Between 8:
00 and midnight.

Did he leave anything behind?

Beside his gray matter

upon the greensward?

Was thinking

more of a note.

Not that I've come across.

You might have better luck

at his lodgings.

This was in his pocket.

Miles Percival.

Address is in Jericho.

Don't suppose there's

any chance of a lift?

Detective Constable Morse,

Oxford City Police.

Mister...

Lomax.

Brian Lomax.

Would be right in thinking

Miles Percival lives here?

When?

Mean, where?

Last night.

His body was found down by the

river at Thrupp this morning.

You known him long?

Two years.

We sang together

in the choir for a bit.

When did you see him last?

Yesterday, at college.

How did he seem?

Anything worrying him?

No.

What about recently?

Anything out of the ordinary?

Money problems?

College?

Girl trouble?

Nothing he told me about.

You're Australian, Mr. Lomax.

That's right.

From where?

Sydney

So you weren't concerned that

he didn't come home last night?

Was in The Bird till closing.

When got back, thought

he already turned in.

Did you know he owned a gun?

His grandfather's.

I'll need to speak to his tutor.

Sure.

He teaches over at Lonsdale.

Morse?

Morse!

Good God.

Hello, Alex.

Don't believe it.

What the hell

are you doing here?

I'm looking for a colleague

of yours... Dr. Stromming.

What's your business with him?

Police business.

I'm a policeman.

Police?

The last heard, you'd run off

to join the Foreign Legion.

What happened? Didn't take?

It was the Royal Signals.

But no, it didn't take.

You're still...

Climbing the ladder of academe?

Oh, yes.

All the way to the topmost rung.

Master one day, suppose.

You always were ambitious.

Well, genius does what it must.

Walk with me.

I'm late for lunch.

Can't,...

Oh, you won't find

Stromming in today.

Home, probably.

Porter'll give you the address.

One must marry well, you see.

More than the half of it here

if you want to get on.

You taken the plunge?

Not yet.

No.

What was the name of

that girl we were keen on?

Lived on St. John Street.

Wendy, was it?

Susan.

She preferred "Susan. "

Did She?

Did She?

And you to me, as recall.

Still, all's fair.

Well, oughtn't keep you

from your...

But good to see you, Morse.

Very good.

A word of advice,

as an old friend.

Whatever it is you're about

in College, mind how you go.

They won't take kindly

to an interloper.

Particularly one of their own.

I'm not sure was ever that.

No.

Well, dig me out.

We'll have supper.

Proper catch-up.

Good afternoon,

I'm looking for Dr. Stromming.

I'm sorry.

He's out at present.

Is it college business?

In a manner of speaking.

Do you have any idea

what time he'll be back?

No, I'm afraid not.

May take a message?

Probably best if speak

to him directly.

See.

Well...

Yes.

I'll, uh...

Sorry to have troubled you.

Not at all.

Forgive me, but it is

Miss Calloway, isn't it?

Miss Rosalind Calloway.

It was.

It's Mrs. Stromming now.

Ah.

Well, I've...

can't say all,

but I've very many of your

recordings, certainly.

Good heavens.

Yeah, your Butterfly in '54.

If had to save one disc on my

desert island from the waves,

that would...

You are very kind.

Look, I'm sure Rowan

won't be long.

Would you, um...

Would you care to wait?

You don't miss it, performing?

Not for a moment.

You see, got Rowan, my husband.

It seemed like more

than a fair exchange.

The one didn't preclude

the other, surely?

Not for Rowan's part.

But on mine,

it's not the kind of marriage

that wanted...

touring, oceans apart.

Forsaking all others,

certainly.

But music?

No, still have music.

Help out with the college

choir Wednesdays and Saturdays.

And, oh, I've agreed to appear

in a charity gala

at the New next Monday.

To be honest, think I'm

possibly more nervous about this

than any other performance

have ever given.

Are tickets still available?

All gone, I'm told.

Oh, of course.

Rowan, this is Mister...

Morse.

He's come to talk with you.

College business.

Yes, yes, of course.

Are you sure

you won't have one?

No, thank you.

Please.

So, what can do for you,

Mr. Morse?

Actually, Doctor,

it's Detective Constable Morse.

Oxford City Police.

I'm here about

a student of yours.

Miles Percival.

Oh, yes?

I'm sorry to have

to tell you, sir,

but I'm afraid he was

found dead this morning.

Dead?

Oh, my God.

Well, how awful.

What was it?

A car accident or something?

We believe he killed himself.

Have you any idea

why he may wish

to take his own life?

None.

His work had fallen off

quite badly of late.

Missed tutorials, drinking.

There was some talk of him

being rusticated.

He was quite highly strung.

But I'd no idea he was

in that kind of...

My God.

The poor boy.

# Signore, ascolta! #

# Ah, Signore, ascolta #

# Lui non regge piu #

# si spezza it cuor! #

# Ahime #

# quanta cammino #

# col tuo name nell'anima #

# col name tuo sulle labbra. #

Rate this script:3.8 / 4 votes