Endeavour Page #7

This is a very

serious complaint.

Did Inspector Thursday

hit Teddy Samuels?

No, sir.

Right. Clear your desk.

Want you on the next train

to Carshall bloody Newtown

or wherever it is

you came from.

I've no use for troublemakers.

My letter of resignation.

It's been burning a hole

in my pocket this past week.

Perhaps you'd see it reaches

the appropriate channels.

Get out!

Flunked out again,

have you, College?

Read your file, boy.

Three years Lonsdale.

Threw the towel in

before your finals.

That's the trouble

with you posh-ohs.

No gumption.

First sign of bother,

it's off back home to mummy,

tail between.

Mmm, no hard feelings.

You done me a favor.

Pastures new.

Vice.

In the Smoke.

And you on the slow boat

to China.

What will you do?

Praise the God of all,

drink the wine and beer,

and let the world be the world.

Another?

No, I've got to mind the shop.

Did you ever make any headway

with what was on

the back of her hand?

What was it?

F-L-A...

17B.

Or 178.

We tried it as a

vehicle registration,

FLA 178, but nothing doing.

And if it was flat 17B...

There was something

missing off the end,

though, wasn't there?

Another letter,

or number, thought.

Maybe. It's hard to say.

Why?

Oh, just... well, nothing.

It doesn't matter.

It's no longer my concern.

And tell Thursday

if he wants to know

who killed Mary Tremlett,

find out where

her clothes came from.

Did Mary ever mention

a Teddy Samuels?

Runs a garage round the back

of Park Town.

It's not a name I've

heard her mention.

Is it you, Shar?

She's got herself caught up

with this bloke, then, has she?

It's just we're interested

in anyone

she may have known through him.

Did she ever go to Wolvercote,

so far as you know?

Oh.

I'm afraid Rowan's not in.

It's you came to see.

Wanted to say goodbye

before push off.

Leaving Oxford?

Oxford, the police, all of it.

You'd better come in.

Took the liberty...

It seemed too good

an opportunity to let pass.

It's seldom one gets...

one gets to meet

one's heroines.

Heroine?

Surely not.

More than you could know.

You see, you saved my life.

What an extraordinary

thing to say.

It's true nevertheless.

The place that grew up

was a Grey, unfeeling nothing.

Then, one day heard your voice.

And... and knew

for the first time

that there was...

beauty in the world.

Would you sign it?

It would mean a great deal.

Yes.

Oh, heavens.

Look at me.

Have, often.

Are you flirting with me?

A little, perhaps.

You mustn't.

Love my husband.

Very much.

Know.

What shall put?

Samuels' insurance

against police interest.

Wicked thing, blackmail.

God knows I'd have

done the same

if it'd been my daughter.

Burnt the negatives.

All of them.

Jenny doesn't have

to worry any more.

And nor do you, sir.

Who else knows?

Between you, me and Morse.

You can rely on his discretion.

He's a good lad.

We wouldn't be where we are now

if he hadn't kept pushing.

Sharon?

Sharon?

Thank you for the coffee and...

You know, you should

find yourself a girl.

Did once.

We were engaged.

What happened?

Oh, someone she'd left behind.

They'd been something

in her first year.

After it ended,

she took up with me.

But not to be.

I'm sorry.

Truly.

Perhaps better

to have loved and lost.

So I'm told.

Goodbye, Mrs. Stromming

Yours, believe.

There's been a development.

He had to pay.

For Mary.

Mean, knew he was bad,

but never thought...

his own daughter.

Our daughter.

You and Teddy Samuels?

Summer '49.

Mum and Dad said shouldn't

have my life ruined

with a kiddie so young.

So they took her on.

Teddy didn't want

anything to do with it.

Threatened me if told anyone.

And then you come round.

Just hearing his name,

something went in me.

All these years.

The thought of him

having anything to do

with Mary...

I'm not sorry.

It's a rum old go, Morse,

and no mistake.

Families. Shame.

How is it any fault of a kiddie

what side of the sheets

it's born?

Her flesh and blood

and yet all this.

As if we didn't all

get here the same way.

It won't do...

know that much.

It won't bloody do.

What's all this business

with Mary Tremlett's outfit?

Oh.

Well, Mary Tremlett

took a size 36C in a bra.

But the dress

found with her body

was a size small.

She couldn't have squeezed

into that outfit

if her life depended on it.

Bought for her by an admirer?

Well, that was my thinking.

When it comes to woman's

dress sizes, mean...

Have McLeash run down a list

of local stockists.

Meantime, we'd better have

a word with friend Teddy.

He might be in more of a mood

to make himself useful

this morning.

It's Morse.

I'm in hospital

with Inspector Thursday.

Any luck with the outfitters?

Oh, well, keep trying.

Oh, damn.

The pips have gone

and I'm out of change.

Can you call me back?

The number's OTMoor double-2-70.

OTMoor.

- T-M...

Yes. Straightaway.

There's something

need you to check.

She's done a proper job on him.

He does pull through,

the doctor says

he's likely a vegetable.

How'd you make out?

Percival's in the clear.

Not only did he not have access

to a vehicle,

but according to Lomax,

he couldn't even drive.

That's not all.

What?

You remember what was written

on the back

of Mary Tremlett's hand?

FLA 178.

The car reg?

Yeah, nothing doing.

That's because

it wasn't a car reg,

or part of an address,

or anything of the sort.

FLA is an abbreviation

of FLAxman,

which is the name of

a London telephone exchange

covering the Chelsea area.

FLA 178.

You're a digit short,

aren't you?

Got McLeash to check

all ten possibilities.

FLAxman 1788 is the number

of the London home

of Sir Richard Lovell,

Minister for Overseas Affairs,

and constituency MP

for Oxford North.

You talked to him?

His housekeeper.

Lovell was in Oxford

last weekend

from Friday to Sunday.

He has a house by Woodstock

called Applegate.

Detective Inspector

Thursday, sir.

Detective Constable Morse.

Wonder if we might

speak to you a moment.

With me?

Certainly.

Please.

So, what can do for you?

I'm hoping you'll be able

to tell us how

your London telephone number

came to be found

written on the hand

of a schoolgirl murdered

last Sunday in Bagley Wood.

My telephone number?

Flaxman 1-7-double 8.

That is your phone number.

Yes, it is, but...

how this young girl came

to have it,

I'm... I'm afraid

haven't the foggiest.

Her name was Mary Tremlett.

A redhead.

She'd be one of the young girls

you'll have met

at Teddy Samuels' parties.

You attended one

last Saturday at Wolvercote.

Don't think so.

Sounds most unsavory.

Dear, dear.

"Dear, dear"?

A young girl is strangled

and left naked in the woods,

and all you can say

is, "Dear, dear?"

Morse...

Do you deny

you were there, Minister?

Naturally.

And unless you have

evidence to the contrary,

I'm afraid this meeting

is at an end.

Think we can say who

Dempsey's looking out for.

Don't you?

A Minister of the Crown.

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