Enjoying the match, Inspector?
Inspector Mallory!
Padre. What do YOU want?
We were just pondering your sudden interest in bowls.
Are you undercover?
My secondment's up, and red tape dictates
I have to apply for my own job.
It's at this point you say, "Surely a formality?"
But for the part when asked to describe my involvement
in the local community,
preferably something that didn't involve bell ringing, rambling,
children or any other form of undue exertion...
And the thing about bowls is...
.. nothing... ever... happens.
My husband, Eric, our chairman.
- Hello there. - Men's skip Roger Frobisher
and his doubles partner, Shirley Kreiger.
Excuse me, Christina.
And I think you know our treasurer, Mrs McCarthy.
Inspector, I didn't know you liked bowls!
I thought it time I got more involved in the local community.
Hear, hear. Welcome on board.
Do you have any experience?
None whatsoever.
We welcome all new members from novice to advanced.
Advanced being preferable, however.
I'm afraid Roger is always this literal.
For the time being, I'm happy just to watch and learn.
- Mainly watch. - That's the spirit.
So, let's get you shown around pronto before the opposition arrive.
I say! Who is THAT?!
My brother Alec. Visiting for the weekend.
You never told me you had a brother.
Doubtless because we're more like Cain and Abel
than Romulus and Remus.
MISS Shirley Krieger.
Do you like bowls, Mr Frobisher?
Alec. It just got more interesting.
You're not at all like Roger.
I can't believe the two of you are brothers!
Eric Worcester. And you must be Roger's brother.
That's a very English name for a Pole.
Anglicised the minute I set foot on Blighty.
Didn't want to sound like Johnny Foreigner.
That was in '48 in the Polish resettlement.
Now my husband is more English than John Bull.
Auschwitz?
Przepraszam.
Oh! You speak Polish?
I was with the 11th Armoured when we liberated Bergen-Belsen.
"I'm sorry" were the first words I learned in Polish.
No others needed, except for...
- Pomszcze cie. - I shall avenge you.
Gandhi said, "An eye for an eye will make the whole world blind."
Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy.
I choose to live in the warmth of the present rather than
dwell in the cold of the past.
The English have a saying. Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Revenge is the Lord's. He will repay.
And if there is no God? No Day of Judgment?
Then human justice is all that's left.
Excuse me.
Don't be taken in by him.
You are strange, Roger. Whatever do you mean?
What I said.
- I trust you're glad you came. - I am indeed.
Sausage roll?
Oh.
Please don't near me... you know what it does to my chest.
I could do with stretching my legs.
There's a fine view from the back of the clubhouse.
- I could show you. - What could be more delightful?
You haven't told me what line of work you're in.
Pen pushing, in the main. I'd much rather talk about you.
Enjoying the game, Inspector?
Inspector Mallory!
Padre, what do YOU want?
< We were just pondering your sudden interest in bowls.
- Are you undercover? - My secondment's up, and red tape dictates
< I have to apply for my own job.
This is a crime scene! Please move away.
I didn't know you were into bowls, sir.
Don't you start. Deceased's name is Alec Frobisher.
Garrotted with a thin ligature sometime between 4 and 4.30pm,
when the place was like Piccadilly Circus.
Anyone could have slipped away and done it.
Plenty of suspects, then.
A veritable cornucopia. Kembleford versus Little Haydock.
More than a dozen players plus a dozen spectators.
Everything all right, sir?
Deputy Commander. Scotland Yard?
A dead big cheese. That's all we need.
Alec Frobisher's file, sir. CID,
until the war, when he served as Captain in the 11th Armoured Division.
After Armistice, he transferred to the Military Police
attached to the War Crimes Commission in Nuremberg till
discharge in 1948, when he joined Scotland Yard as Deputy Commander.
Don't I know it. Top brass are all over us like a rash
and thus far we've got sweet Fanny Arkwright to go on.
Anything in the postmortem, sir?
"Posteriorly the ligature marks appear complex, consistent
"with the effective application of a garrotte or Spanish Windlass,"
ie the killer knew what they were doing.
Trained or with a lucky knowledge of anatomy.
As for the murder weapon...
Fibres in the wound match the type found in one of these,
which hardly narrows our options.
Someone ex-military, perhaps? Or a professional kill?
I mean, he was ex-CID.
He must have collected a few enemies.
Statistics, however, tell us the perpetrator is usually someone
found closer to home.
He seemed to take his brother's death remarkably calmly.
Maybe he and I should...
You need to sort out your front desk. Mickey Mouse out there
didn't know me from Adam.
And you are?
DI Ironside from HQ.
You didn't get the memo?
Clearly not.
You've managed to get yourselves a very important corpse.
I've been sent to relieve you of the case.
On what grounds?
On the grounds that the investigating officer is,
A, a witness, B, technically a suspect and, C, we can't afford
any conflict of interest which may jeopardise a conviction.
Not a moment too soon.
Well, as this appears to be the investigation office,
you won't mind if I commandeer it.
This is MY office.
I should explain, I'm no longer on the case.
I'm here in a private capacity to offer my condolences
to a fellow club member.
As you can see, I am awash with condolences.
You may as well join the throng.
Were you and your brother close?
I hadn't seen hide nor hair of him in years.
Until this weekend.
So his visit was... unusual?
He had come here to sign some papers regarding our late father's will.
Although affairs that will be much simpler now.
Now?
Well, now I am the sole beneficiary.
Honestly, Roger, why don't you come right out and say you murdered him?
He's a policeman, remember?
Off duty.
We weren't close, but being his only surviving relative,
his recent demise has left me feeling...
.. unexpectedly alone.
I was the only member of my family to survive the camp.
I know that emptiness.
And then I met Eric.
Swept a fair damsel off her feet.
Brought me here for a new life.
I discovered it only takes two people to make a family.
Ah, my communicants await.
Do excuse me.
What are you up to, Padre?
I thought you were off the case.
I won't let some pompous air bag from HQ steal MY thunder.
So if you have any information, I trust you'll share it.
IF I have any information, I will do just that.
Talk of the devil!
I was just saying to Goodfellow,
word at HQ is you've got yourself a pet priest.
We'd describe him more as a thorn in the side.
Isn't that right, Sergeant?
Father Brown rather goes with the furniture round here, sir.
Not when I'm in charge.
And what makes you think there's a vacancy?
I hear you're headed back north and the inspector's job is up for grabs.
You've heard wrong. I've decided to reapply.
Like I said. Up for grabs.
- What can I do for you, Father? - Ah, good morning, Sergeant Goodfellow.
May I speak with Inspector Ironside?
I think I have some information on the Frobisher case.
Father Brown would like a word about the Frobisher case, sir.
I believe I have pertinent information...
Let's start as we mean to go on.
Unlike OTHERS,
I'm capable of doing my job without the help of the local Miss Marple.
And you should know better.
- Now, get him out, and leave the detecting to me. - Sir.
I'll have you know, flower arranging was one of the few things
I excelled at in finishing school. Along with skiing.
And getting expelled.
Where is he?
- HE has a name. - I believe the Padre has information.
But as you're here, Miss Windermere, perhaps YOU can enlighten me.
I assume it has something to do with yesterday's antics?
I thought you were off the case.
Off the case and out of here, if my replacement solves it first.
Oh, surely not.
Wile E Coyote has his eye on my job.
The thing is... we seem to have taken seed here.
The missus has joined the WI,
John's out climbing trees with the Cubs
and the air's done wonders for Janet's chest after her TB.
Bless the child.
And my golf handicap is down to 19.
I wish you wouldn't do that.
Am I to understand that YOU are asking for our help?
The day before the match,
Miss Windermere volunteered to help me deliver the parish magazines.
I can assure you, there was nothing voluntary about it.
Will you come and watch the match tomorrow?
Bowls is hardly my cup of tea.
Although I would have been curious to meet the mysterious Shirley.
There is nothing mysterious about Shirley. She's my doubles partner.
Well, then, the mystery is why her name crops up so very frequently.
Don't pray tell my big bro has finally shown
an interest in the opposite sex.
Ah, Roger, there you are. Oh, and this must be your brother.
I heard you were visiting.
Parish magazine? You can see the delights Kembleford has to offer.
I trust you will be attending our bowls semifinals?
Bowls is hardly my brother's cup of tea.
I think I will come, after all.
Well, I'm sure you won't regret it.
Now, Roger, tell me about your dark desires.
Not as intense as usual...
He was talking about his roses!
So he changed his mind about going to a bowls match?
We hadn't finished.
I saw him scribble something in his notebook...
.. then tear out a page from the parish magazine.
He pocketed it and then disposed of the rest.
I can hardly blame him.
And where is it now?
A witness statement which describes you as running from the crime scene
"in a tizzy" shortly before the body was discovered.
Would you care to explain?
I wouldn't. No.
It's not a request, madam.
- Miss. - So, unless you'd rather do this down at the station?
I took Alec to see the view at the back of the clubhouse.
And we were chatting... perfectly pleasantly, I thought... when he...
You take your time, miss.
.. made inappropriate advances.
Sexual advances? And what did you do?
I was upset, naturally, and resisted.
Naturally.
Then I returned to the game.
Now, if you've quite finished with this intrusive
line of questioning, I'm due for work.
I'm Theatre Sister at the cottage hospital
and my shift starts at 11.
Far be it from me to keep the sick waiting.
A theatre nurse. I'll bet she knows her anatomy.
Why did you lie?
It's obvious Alec wouldn't find you attractive.
If you're just going to insult me...
I'm not insulting you.
I know what Alec was like.
And why you'd baulk at admitting the truth.
You want to know the truth?
Very well.
It is indeed a lovely view.
Perhaps you'll be tempted back to Kembleford.
As it turns out, far more interesting than I imagined.
I'm often in London.
Perhaps we could meet for lunch in an exhibition?
I fear you've mistaken social niceties for... something else.
But you implied...
You inferred.
To be clear,
I have no interest in forming any further attachment with you.
Oh!
Right then, I'm going to get dressed and get to work.
You think one of them sent him haring off to a bowls match?
Well, except for his own brother, Roger, obviously.
This note and page weren't found on his body or in his possession,
so what did he do with them?
We think he posted them.
And you know this how?
He missed the last collection, but the Post Office is open
until five o'clock, and Vera Clam is the most terrible gossip.
That's quite enough from you, madam.
- I never uttered a word. - Yes, but I know that look.
Anyway, Vera distinctly remembers Alec coming in, buying a stamp
and handing a letter in at the counter.
It's a shame she doesn't remember where it was going.
Because it isn't often she receives a letter to... the War Office.
You HAVE been busy, and now I suppose you're going to tell me
what was in this letter.
We were hoping YOU could help us with that.
"H, long time, no see.
"Out of loop.
"Sending you for ID.
"S blank E, space... Teufel.
"See Teufel finally brought to justice."
So, who's this Teufel?
It's German for "devil". "See devil finally brought to justice."
Oh!
A German devil of interest to the War Office.
Something to share, Inspector?
Before Scotland Yard, Alec Frobisher was attached
to the War Crimes Commission in Nuremberg.
Oh, a Nazi hunter, how thrilling!
In which case, only one person fits the bill.
He was in the Polish Free Army.
We only have his word for that. Perhaps he and I should HAVE a word.
He is the local dentist. His wife teaches catechism class!
You can't just barge in and accuse upstanding members
of the community of war crimes.
Drop it into conversation and see his reaction.
It's an old coppers' trick.
Have you forgotten you're off the case, Inspector?
Which is why you're coming with me.
I'm sure you can find us a pretext.
I'd be happy to help.
- The Padre thought a wreath would be an appropriate gesture. - Ah.
Rum business. Ten bob do you?
A policeman, you know.
Maybe some criminal lowlife with a score to settle.
Prior to Scotland Yard,
he was with the War Crimes Investigation Unit in Nuremburg.
I believe the common parlance is Nazi hunter.
That figures. Criminals or Nazis...
it's all the same line of work.
Maybe this lowlife was a war criminal?
In Kembleford? That WOULD be a thing.
Forgive me, but that scar on your arm?
Oh...
This? Just an old shrapnel wound.
Only... it looks like a burn scar.
I'm not sure of the point of your question.
He's not the only one.
Well, the SS had their blood group
tattooed on the inner arm.
After the war for fear of reprisal, many had it removed.
Often by burning.
You must tell them the truth, Eric.
Yes?
Those criminal records checks, sir, threw up a result.
Let's bring 'em in, Sergeant.
Sir.
When the Nazis invaded our country, I was designated Volksdeutsche...
Pure German.
Only by ancestry. I was born a Pole and a patriot.
Still, they gave me Hobson's choice.
Conscription in the SS or execution.
You admit you were in the SS?
Only a foot soldier. Cannon fodder for the Eastern Front.
When I was captured, the British gave me another choice.
Sit out the war a prisoner, or fight for my country.
The Polish medal of valour on his chest. That's the truth.
I-I-I killed, like any soldier.
Under orders, in the heat of battle.
I swear to God, I never killed in cold blood or was party to atrocity.
Why would this man be interested in Eric?
Oh, where are your pills?
You shouldn't have come here. Raking up the past.
Go now, before you do any more damage.
Thank you.
She's right. Why would Alec Frobisher be hunting a foot soldier?
You know your problem, Padre? You're too trusting.
Always wanting to see the best in people.
What do we really know about the man,
except for the fact Eric Worcester isn't his real name?
My practice is ruined. They will cross the street to avoid me.
Or maybe they will understand.
Not everyone is as forgiving as you.
Alone we have survived far worse. Together we can survive anything.
You still believe in me?
You know I do.
In 1938, while working as a book-keeper in Lewisham,
you committed embezzlement
and received a six-month sentence in Holloway.
I only borrowed the money.
They all say that.
I was behind with my rent.
They found out before I could pay it back.
They decided to make an example of me.
During the war, you volunteered for the Queen Alexandra Nursing Corps.
When asked the question,
"Have you ever been convicted of a criminal offence?" you ticked "no".
I lied so I could serve my country.
At the time of your conviction, Alec Frobisher was with Lewisham CID.
Did you come across each other?
Of course not.
I think he recognised a convicted felon
and, fearing exposure, you panicked and killed him.
No!
War Office Records. Polish section.
Thank you for your assistance.
< Kembleford Police... Mrs Worcester, try and stay calm.
Have you touched the body?
Don't disturb anything, and I'll get someone there as soon as possible.
He said he was going to mow the lawn,
so I took the dogs for a walk in the woods...
And when I got back...
"I killed Frobisher. To spare my wife further suffering.
"May God have mercy on me."
This isn't the man I knew.
He deceived us all.
I'm afraid I can't move the body until the police surgeon
has examined him.
What are YOU doing here?
Solving your case, it seems. Frobisher's murderer.
It's a long story, but I'll be sure to fill you in.
I'll take it from here.
I attended a call on a suicide.
I think you'll find it's my jurisdiction.
Pertaining to a case on which I am Investigating Officer.
Your presence is extraneous to requirements.
I'm so sorry.
And you can take him with you!
I need to do my job, like you.
Are you still here?
.. and a whisky chaser. Make it a double.
The road to ruin.
I'm ruined already.
Ironside stole my collar.
Job's as good as his.
Eric Worcester did not write that suicide note.
And you know this because?
He's a bell ringer.
It's like a fog has lifted...!
Certain letters in the note were less heavily inked.
As, Gs, Rs, Ws.
Which would point to a weakness in the left hand.
- So? - At bell ringing practice last night,
Eric's grip was in fine fettle.
They come from the same hand.
Did you kill your husband?
I loved Eric.
The man you thought he was, not the man Alec Frobisher hunted.
After you and the Father left, I saw the fear in his eyes.
He knew he was discovered.
And I realised the man who shared my bed
was no different from those who slaughtered my family like cattle.
You still believe in me?
You know I do.
I drugged him before shooting him.
It was a better death than he deserved.
You could have come to the police.
Let him hang for his crimes.
Give him time to repent? My way is far crueller.
He died unshriven, without opportunity to atone.
And will burn in hell for all eternity.
If it were up to me,
you'd go unpunished for your vengeance.
You'd be willing to say nothing?
I've cooked sandwiches
and delivered magazines and flower arranged...
But this is a step too far!
Your aunt was District Commissioner.
Attending jamborees and handing out prizes in a well-tailored uniform
is a far cry from being Assistant Akela to the 2nd Kembleford.
You might get something out of it.
Out of being in charge of a pack of feral male children?!
They are good boys.
Not after I'VE been near them. I will teach them rugby songs
and how to smoke cigarettes, and I'll give them whisky.
A little... she-devil, that's what you are!
Never assume, Brown.
No, sir.
Inspector!
I'm a step ahead of you, Padre. SHE wrote the suicide note.
Poor soul discovered she married a monster
and then, I'm sorry to say, she killed him.
I'm sorry to keep you. I wasn't sure what I'd need.
My advice is tell the truth.
Manslaughter on the grounds of diminished responsibility.
After what you suffered at the likes of him,
there isn't a jury in the land that would convict you.
I wouldn't be so sure.
You killed Alec Frobisher too, didn't you?
And I fear that was just the start.
The start of what?
Are you going to enlighten me?
Alec's devil was a woman. "Sie Teufel"... German for "she-devil".
No talking.
I don't know about you, but I'm not liking the look of those spades.
Stop!
Dig.
If I'm about to dig my own grave,
the least I deserve is the courtesy of an explanation.
The tattoo was a masterstroke.
People are blind. They never look beyond the obvious.
She wasn't even in Auschwitz?!
I think she was.
But not a prisoner.
When we knew the Soviets are coming,
I had an inmate do it as... insurance.
From perpetrator to victim in a few strokes of ink.
Just another survivor of the camps.
One of the dispossessed for whom no explanation was necessary.
Until Alec Frobisher recognised you as a wanted criminal.
He was arrogant. Couldn't resist letting me know.
The English have a saying. Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Revenge is the Lord's. He will repay.
And if there is no God? No Day of Judgment?
Then human justice is all that's left to us.
It was risky but I had nothing to lose.
Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb, as Eric would say.
Did he know what he was married to?
Eric was a fool.
A lovable one, but a fool nonetheless.
It didn't stop you murdering him.
You deduced Frobisher was on someone's trail
and Eric's past made him expedient.
It's regrettable. We were happy here.
You ARE capable of remorse. There is hope for your soul yet.
You've had your explanation. Now dig.
It was hideous, Roger.
You shouldn't have lied about Alec. It made you look guilty.
It was that or admit humiliation to all and sundry.
Scratch the surface,
and Alec had a cruel streak which he usually reserved for me.
And in this case someone cl...
.. close to me.
I'd hardly say we were close.
Well, given the disproportionate amount of our free time
we spend together.
It would have amused him to reel you in and then throw you back.
- No stopping. - So shoot me!
I'll be dead, and you can dig your own damn hole.
At least let a man have a last smoke.
Do you really think you'll get away with this?
I doubt even your police are THAT incompetent.
But by the time they find you, I'll be long gone.
How many did you kill? Hundreds? Thousands?
Protecting the homeland from its internal enemies.
Your enemies were women and children, the sick and the infirm?
Burdens on the Fatherland.
The fight against those in the camps was as important for the Reich
as the battles at the front.
You still hide evil behind ideology.
The victor will always be the judge and the vanquished the accused.
There is only one judge... that you need...
fear!
Run!
I AM running!
- Did you have a better plan?! - I only said I thought it was foolhardy!
What would you have done?
Pray for the wrath of Jehovah to strike her down?!
Inspector Mallory? Inspector Mallory? On your feet.
- We have to get away from here. - Leave me.
Well, that wouldn't be very comradely, would it?
We are not and never have been comrades.
Now, go before she gets here and kills us both.
I'm afraid he missed his chance. On your knees.
On your knees!
Just promise me there's a hell and she will burn in it.
There is no mercy for those who reject His grace.
I pity and fear for you in equal measure.
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, et in hora mortis nostrae.
She's dead.
So, she was about to shoot you, Father Brown started ranting
in Latin... At which point she dropped down dead.
Are you sure you want that on record, sir?
I'm just telling it how it happened.
Yes, but put like that, it sounds rather like Father Brown
called on God to strike her down
and, well, he obliged.
I wouldn't put anything past him.
Cyanide poisoning.
It seems the tattoo wasn't the only insurance
she took against capture... she had a false tooth fitted with a cyanide
capsule inside and it broke when she fell. The poison leaked out.
I told you there'd be a rational explanation.
Well, according to the War Office, her real name was Gerda Frick.
Former SS Oberaufseherin at Auschwitz.
Wanted for murder and crimes, and atrocities against the laws
- of humanity. - Then isn't it a shame you allowed her to evade justice?
She died without making her peace with God,
so she faces the most dreadful justice of all.
I believe the statutory sentence is eternal life in the fires of hell.
Seems you got lucky.
There was nothing lucky about it. Just good old-fashioned police work.
That's exactly what the Chief Constable said when he phoned, sir.
Oh, and he mentioned he hadn't received your reapplication,
but wanted to reassure you it's purely a formality.
Thank you, Goodfellow.
Are you still here?
Did the Chief Constable really say that?
I may have read between the lines a bit,
but I'm sure that's roughly the gist, sir.
It's good to know you've got my back, Sergeant.
Well, as they say, sir, better the devil you know.
I was thinking on what you said.
And for two people who spend as much time together as you claim...
I calculate it averages at 11.5 hours per week,
- which, over a year... - Yes, thank you, Roger.
Apropos on which it struck me
that we never meet anywhere else but... here.
There's a new Arthur Miller on in London if you'd like to see it?
With YOU?
Yes, Roger, with me.
I have a great affinity for Arthur Miller, as it happens.
I should inform you in advance
that I have a criminal record.
It seems we'll have a lot more to talk about
than just theatre and bowls.
Not playing today, Inspector?
Sadly, as it happens, I only came to offer my resignation.
A sudden outburst of tennis elbow. Isn't that right, Inspector?
And with you so keen to get involved in the local community.
Bell ringing's out of the question too, before you suggest it.
Oh, I'm sure Mrs M can find you a vacancy.
She's very good at getting people involved.
Come to think of it, the Cubs have just lost their assistant Akela.
- I hardly think... - Oh, don't vex about your elbow.
It's the legs you need worry about.
They are a lively bunch, but I expect you know that from John.
Oh, and a whistle is provided.
Mrs McCarthy, your wood.
Oh, that's me.
I'll be sure to tell Akela to expect you Wednesday evening.
Seven o'clock sharp at the village hall.
Dyb, dyb, dyb.