- This way, please. - Thank you.
Why are they shutting you down?
They're not really, just this building.
Everything's being moved to new premises.
- You're still here. - I'm nearly finished.
Moving the people and the machines is the easy part, believe me.
Moving the files and the records is a whole different story.
But I'm getting there.
It's upstairs.
I'm looking for a patient of Dr Tremaine's from the war.
Perhaps if you tell me what it's in connection with?
- It's a bit complicated. - Everything in my line of work is complicated.
John used to say that to the trained mind, complexity is a delight, not a burden.
You knew him well?
Oh, yes, we worked together for several years before he retired.
He's retired?
You don't happen to know where he is, do you?
Let me see. I know he went on a tour of Europe.
But then... I'm sorry, I'm just not sure.
I haven't heard from him in quite a while.
Ah, here we are.
This is me.
So, who was it you were looking for again?
- Malcolm Crowley. - Malcolm Crowley?
Yes.
Yes, of course.
He was an interesting case.
Quite a delight of complexity, believe me.
You saw him?
I mean...professionally?
I helped to assess him when he was referred to us.
If I remember rightly, wasn't he killed?
Mr Croft, if you assessed him, you must know there was something wrong with him.
Is this something to do with what happened to him in the war?
I can't go into details.
Oh.
You do realise that...
since I treated Mr Crowley, I had to sign the Official Secrets Act.
In fact, I was in the position of treating a good number of people
serving in delicate positions during the war.
So whatever is on your mind, you can tell me.
I think that he's very dangerous.
Sorry, I mean, I think he's still alive.
You're SOE, then?
Bletchley Park.
Bletchley?
That was very hush-hush.
Yes.
Wasn't it all statistics and numbers?
Something like that.
And how did statistics and numbers lead you here, Mrs Gray?
I just saw a pattern and...
I followed it.
You're not working for anyone, are you?
No.
You did this all on your own.
Astonishing.
"Umbras erat illa recentes inter et incessit passu de vulnere tardo."
I'm sorry?
"From among the shades of the recent dead she came."
ls something wrong?
No.
I really must be going.
My husband's outside in the car. I said I'd be ten minutes.
Of course.
I'll see what I can find in the files.
And don't worry.
I'll be in touch.
- Susan, what is it? - I think it was him.
What?
Crowley's at the hospital.
- Anything? - Nothing.
- There's no one here, miss. - What about upstairs?
All right.
- It's all gone. - We've been through the whole building.
The man you said stole your bag, he certainly came in here?
Yes.
In the front door, out the back, most like.
Sorry, miss, he's long gone.
Where on earth have you been?
The one night a year I absolutely need to rely on you.
William Smith gave his life for me and my men.
I know.
If he hadn't thrown himself on that grenade, I wouldn't be here. There'd be no Claire, no Sam.
The least we can do is honour the man's memory once a year.
What... What's happened?
I...
it's fine, I was um...
Gosh, I was...
it was the silliest thing. I was...
coming out from visiting Lucy.
I slipped on the steps and I just...
I really am so sorry about missing the memorial dinner.
So am I.
This has to stop, you know.
Whatever this is.
You're my wife.
But above that...
you're a mother.
That has to come first.
I'm sorry. I'm sorry.
Well...you're a state.
Come on.
Let's get a wet flannel on that ankle.
Harry?
Hurry up, will you? Come on.
Open your eyes.
Is this for me?
Housewarming present.
This is your home now.
Thank you.
Jean, you terror!
It's damson gin.
I make it myself.
Just a wee tot, it's strong.
- Cheers. - Cheers.
Mmm!
- How are you feeling? - Fine.
Steady your nerves.
Thank you, Jean.
Cheers.
Why was he even there?
Why hide out in the hospital that treated you during the war?
Well, he'd know the Meredith specialised in psychiatric disorders.
So he's interested in psychiatric patients?
Same as all the men he set up.
Like Gerald Wiggins, Marco Giacommi, Terry Hudson.
They all had mental disorders.
Oh, my God, she's right.
Wiggins had shrapnel in his head, didn't he?
He has to find the right candidate to pin the crime on.
Not intelligent, articulate people who can mount a proper defence.
- People with mental problems. - Where does he find people like that?
In the medical records of a mental health hospital.
He just had to leaf through the files.
They were all over the country, though.
But those cases would have been too specialised for a local GP.
They would've been referred to somewhere like the Meredith.
So it was Crowley.
You're lucky to be alive.
- Mrs Gray. - I met your dead friend yesterday.
Quite a lot shorter than you, fair hair- ring any bells?
Yes, that's him.
I was sat opposite him. He was this close to me.
The police won't listen. I need you to help me find him again.
I want his personnel file- not just the bits you're happy to show me, everything.
- I haven't got it. - But you can get it?
How would it ever help?
At Bletchley, when we came across corrupted data, we had to backtrack till we hit clean code.
That's how you find an error in the pattern.
All Crowley's giving us is corrupted data.
We need to backtrack to before he was killing.
We need to start from there. That's how we'll find him.
I want the file. Can you get it?
Perhaps.
There's more.
I need to know what's not in the file.
What do you mean?
Well, what it is that you're so reluctant to tell me.
What did you do, you and Crowley, at Electra House?
Susan, do you know what psychological warfare means?
No.
It means sapping the enemy's morale,
working on his weaknesses...
his conscience...
his base fears...
and drives.
These images were designed to be provocative...
titillating.
But the messages that went with the images were intended to demoralise.
Like these, they were crude suggestions that what was on the postcard
might be what was happening to your wife or daughter back home while you were fighting.
- That was the principle, anyway. - Crowley worked on these?
Oh, yes, he had a talent for it.
Some of the men were too embarrassed to throw themselves into the work but not him.
After the bombing incident...
his pictures changed.
We couldn't use them, they were too extreme.
It wasn't our finest hour.
They've muddled up our paper, this is the Telegraph.
Lunch is ready, can you carve?
Of course.
I'm thinking of taking the children to the lido this afternoon, give you some time to yourself.
You can try your hand at the Telegraph crossword for once.
It's a lovely idea. Did you do this?
What?
The crossword- someone's filled it in.
Hm.
You've still got two, three and six down.
Perhaps that paperboy is playing a joke.
Daddy's taking us swimming.
I know.
I'm gonna dive off the board.
Mummy?
Is something wrong?
No.
No, of course not.
I just feel a little bit funny today.
Hello?
Cavendish?
Hello?
Millie, it's Cavendish.
Quickly, we haven't long before the police arrive.
- What happened? - He's dead.
How?
- It looks like suicide. - You think Crowley did it?
I just don't think he's the kind of man to kill himself.
- Why now? - That's obvious, isn't it?
- Cavendish was trying to find Crowley. - Maybe he did, somehow.
Personnel file?
We need to go and look.
- Right. - I can't.
I'm sorry, I can't do that again.
Lucy, we...
When we went into that cellar and saw Mary Lawrence...
- I know it was awful... - You don't know.
I still see it.
I see it every night when I close my eyes, every part of it, every detail.
All right.
You don't have to.
Oh, crikey!
Look over here.
The files from Electra House.
Where's Crowley's?
It's not here, it's gone. He must have taken it.
What's this?
These are a bit racier than the end of the pier, aren't they?
It's not what you think.
They're part of what he was doing during the war.
He was ashamed of them, actually.
In fact, he wouldn't have had them out unless...
Unless what?
Unless he realised they were important.
- How are you feeling? - I'm fine.
He found something, something in Crowley's personnel file.
- Like what? - We won't know, Crowley's taken it.
Important enough to kill for.
Jean, do they keep duplicates of these files?
No. Classified.
Master copy only. If it's gone, it's gone.
- Maybe it's for the best. - What?
Mr Cavendish is dead.
If what you say is true, Crowley killed him because he was getting too close.
When we first started, it was strangers in the newspapers.
But every step we get closer to Crowley,
he gets closer to us.
He knows where you live, for God's sake!
Mr Cavendish was an officer in the war.
You're just a girl.
Millie?
She's right.
What about your children?
Fine.
So what do we do now?
Take it to Deputy Commissioner Wainwright.
And hope he listens.
Please can we go now?
You met a man who you believe is the real killer?
Malcolm Crowley, yes.
And that's the man you believe killed Mr Cavendish?
Oh, yes.
But you have no proof of either accusation and you have no idea where Malcolm Crowley is?
Mrs Gray, I don't think you realise what I'm seeing from my side of the desk.
I'm sorry?
We have a man in custody thanks to you.
And all the evidence in the world to convict him.
The killings have stopped.
But you're still running around, talking about a phantom no one has seen, stirring up the past.
And now a man has taken his own life as a result.
No...Mr Cavendish was murdered.
You have no proof of that.
All you have is conjecture...imagination...theories.
Theories that are disrupting proper police work.
Now, we're grateful to you for your help but...
this case is solved.
It's over.
I have a responsibility here, Mrs Gray,
not only to bringing the right man to justice
but also to you and to Timothy as well.
I'm quite certain he has no idea what you've been doing,
any more than he knows what you did in the war.
If you're intent on pursuing this... this mistake...
then I'm afraid there will have to be consequences.
Do you understand?
Goodbye, Mrs Gray.
Give my regards to Timothy.
Can't you sleep?
He's convinced Cavendish killed himself
He told me to stop or he'd tell Timothy everything.
What happens if we do stop?
All that's necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing.
Or good women.
All right.
Where do we start?
With these.
I'm sure Cavendish had these out for a reason.
They were supposed to be provocative.
What are the messages?
"German soldiers, while you're fighting and dying,
who do you think is screwing your girlfriends?"
These are different. This is what you need to see.
No one in their right mind is gonna find these erotic.
Cavendish said that after the bomb, what Crowley produced changed.
- These are Crowley's? - Oh, yes.
They're the same girl.
Exactly.
If he drew these after the bomb,
after he was trapped in the rubble, buried alive...
then this has to be the girl who was down there with him.
What if he became...
I don't know, obsessed, fixated?
She was the first dead girl, underground in the dark.
This has to lead to Crowley. We need to know who she was.
The source of his obsession could lead us to him.
I'm sorry.
I really am.
Mr Cavendish was a...kind person.
And a brave man.
You can help us find who did this.
How?
- There was a girl. - She was killed...
when the SOE Records Office was bombed in 1944.
We think if we knew more about her...
I'd already left the department by then.
I imagine those files would have been put back into deep storage.
But if she was an SOE employee when she was killed...
perhaps they were put with the department roster.
Come with me.
What year was it, '44?
We've got more than the year. Lucy...
in Crowley's records, what date did they get him out of the rubble?
21 st May, 1944.
Right.
The whole building came down. A lot of people died.
Wait, we need to check their faces.
Wait.
There she is.
Julie Oakwood.
Thank you.
Angela's given us everything on Julie- employment summary, dates and transfers.
She moved around a lot, there's a ton of bumph in there.
"See enclosed Addendum A."
Oh, it's here.
This is interesting.
She made a formal complaint to her supervisor at SOE.
Malcolm Crowley had been following her, bothering her.
When's it dated?
Three months before she died.
They weren't just random strangers in a bomb blast. He knew her.
He already wanted her.
So this is where the pattern begins.
Yes.
I said to Cavendish, "We need to get back to clean code before Crowley poisoned the data."
He must have found it.
He got back to Julie Oakwood which led him to Crowley.
- Crowley killed him for it. - Must've been something in the personnel file.
That file's gone.
Then we'll have to find another way.
Mummy?
- What is it? What's the matter? - I can't sleep.
Go back to bed.
The bogeyman's watching me.
There's no one watching you.
He's outside in the dark.
There's no one watching you, silly billy. Come on, I'll tuck you in.
It says here her mother died in '33.
What about her father?
No record of him here.
Oh, Susan! That took us ages to put together!
Calm down, this is important.
When Crowley killed the girls, he was clever.
He made a pattern that always pointed to someone else but carried on all over
and, I think, made another pattern.
A large spiral like a Nautilus shell.
So, we start here in Hereford.
He didn't stay there after the police made the arrests.
He moved on, and each time got further away from where he started.
He's too intelligent to kill on his own doorstep, he would've gone some distance.
If we interpolate the data, working back from the first murder which would be...
Cotswolds, it's the middle of nowhere.
It's never gonna be perfect. What are the nearest towns?
Northleach, Coln St Alwyns, Chedworth...
- Chedworth? - Yes, why?
"Dear Julie, what absolutely super news about the job. I shall be coming..."
- The postcard. - Yes.
"..Coming to London next week and can't wait to hear the details.
The holiday cottage is in a state but I've put buckets round to catch the drips
until something proper can be done, love, Dad."
Chedworth postmark, 14th January, 1944.
The hearth had a cottage in the Cotswolds.
- You think that was Crowley's starting point? - I'm sure. I just don't know how yet.
We need to go through all the data on Julie Oakwood.
I was, until you came in and knocked it about.
- But you weren't looking in the right places. - Stop it, you two.
There's something here.
They sent Julie's effects to a forwarding address in North London care of her father.
We could call him and ask about the cottage. His telephone number's right here.
- Barnet 7631. - Mr Oakwood?
I'm afraid not Susan.
Now listen carefully to what I want you to do.
Did you get him?
Yes, he was helpful.
- Are you going to see him? - Yes.
- He might remember Crowley. - Mm.
- I'll come with you. - No.
He's quite old.
It'd be a bit overwhelming, all of us.
It'll be upsetting for him, talking about his daughter.
- If you're sure. - I'm sure.
Tickets, please.
You came.
I had no choice.
It's not that I want to hurt your family but...
I knew you would need an excuse.
You do want to be here, don't you?
Be honest with yourself.
You've been bereft, like me.
Ever since the war ended, you've been waiting and hoping and longing.
Believe me, I understand.
But you didn't give in.
And somehow you've found me.
No one else came close.
I was waiting such a long time for you to call.
You were waiting for me?
"Dear Julie, what absolutely super news about the job.
I shall be coming to London next week and can't wait to hear all the details."
I couldn't really believe, you see?
I thought...
"Does her mind really burn that brightly?"
So I arranged things.
I set a little trap for you.
Mr Cavendish.
All those complicated files.
You are beautiful.
Julie was beautiful.
Now, by the horrors which these realms surround,
By the vast chaos of these depths profound,
By the sad silence which eternal reigns o'er all the waste of these wide -stretching plains,
Let me again Eurydice receive
I'm not her.
Put the gun down, please.
You can't escape.
And besides...
you're not a killer, Susan.
You know that.
Put the gun down.
Thank you.
Would you go to the table, please?
You'll leave them alone?
Your family is safe. You have my word.
There.
By the lamp.
Would you put it on, please?
Carefully.
Thank you.
I thought I'd lost you forever.
I am not Julie Oakwood.
You know what we have to do.
No. We don't.
I know what happened to you. That wasn't your fault.
It was horrible.
- But you have a choice now. - Please.
Don't be mundane.
Neither of us have a choice.
Everyone else can carry on their hopeless, empty, boring existences-
your son...your daughter...
your husband.
But in here...
it will be just the two of us.
- Please. - It won't hurt.
Please, leave them alone.
It will be beautiful.
Someone find the pin!
Hair pin, Jean.
Oh, my God.
Susan, let go.
It's all right.
- That's everything you can tell us? - All right, boys. I'll deal with this now.
May I?
I should have listened.
Why didn't you tell me?
I went to get a fag and when I saw the gun was missing...
You should have told me.
There.
All done.
What do I do now?
What do I say?
If you try to explain...
you'll end up telling him about Bletchley.
Everything.
..and I slay the dragon!
Hello, Mummy.