[upbeat music] [suspenseful music] Good luck, Miss Revelle.

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for, may I present Britain's most gifted psychic medium, Miss Faith Revelle.

[audience applauds] Good evening.

Now remember, we're all friends here tonight.

So there's nothing to fear.

Now, you and I know that no one is ever truly lost, simply hidden from view.

-[gentle music] -[chickens squawking] Everything all right, Mr. Crabbe?

Is it worth it, I ask myself.

I think so.

The finest breast of Aylesbury duckling served with a delicately balanced puree -of apples, sage, and onion.

-Yes.

Accompanied by galette of potatoes.

[John] Quite.

And that philistine on table one asked for mustard.

Well, at least he chose English mustard.

It's no comfort, John.

Henry?

He's in the chicken house.

He'll be out in a minute.

-Table one?

-Afraid so.

Sometimes I think he talks to those chickens more than he talks to me.

Cheaper than therapy, Mrs. Crabbe.

Not when you consider the heating and lighting, not to mention the food.

And are those chickens grateful?

No, they're not.

Productivity's down again.

Maybe that's the problem, no incentives.

[Margaret] And what do you suggest?

Well, that music, for a start.

I mean, you wouldn't get the Japs playing Elgar in their factories.

It's, well, it's too soothing.

Those birds are so mellow, they're positively horizontal.

[laughs] Hardly a good position for laying.

You want my advice?

Change your music.

-To what?

-Modern jazz?

[blows raspberry] Heavy metal.

No, the birdy song.

I was only joking, right?

Well, it was in extremely poor taste.

[audience applauding] Thank you.

Good night.

There's been another letter.

"You tread on sacred paths.

Remember no man shall see me and live."

-They're getting worse.

-Mm, it's getting out of hand.

We need to talk to an expert.

[Fisher] I'll catch up.

[Man] Couldn't it wait?

It's a matter of life and death.

Don't think we're not grateful for Miss Revelle's contribution last time.

And I'm sure if we ever need her help in the future- It's Faith who needs your help.

-In what way?

-She's playing the Middleton Theatre.

She's been receiving threatening letters.

Any idea who sent them?

None.

Thought Miss Revelle was psychic?

I'm sure the boys at the station will take it very seriously.

Faith wants you to handle it.

She knows you.

I rarely involve myself in individual cases these days.

What is it the press call it, the ah, need to know factor?

And if anything were to happen to Miss Revelle- Is, ah, is that some sort of a threat?

Faith is the guardian of a very special gift, Mr. Fisher.

I don't have to tell you that.

The possibilities are endless.

Let the supermarkets fight over the nighttime cornflake eaters.

I'm thinking of cultivating wild mushrooms.

Cultivating wild mushrooms, Henderson, is a contradiction in terms.

Mind you, so is the free market economy.

[chuckles] Mr. Fisher to see you, Chef.

-What day is it?

-Thursday.

Oh, that's what I thought.

It's Thursday, sir.

Shouldn't you be pushing a golf trolley somewhere?

You pull a golf trolley, Crabbe.

[Henry] Ah.

Have you heard of Faith Revelle?

No, I can't say I have, sir.

Psychic medium, she's got a show down at the theater.

She's been receiving these.

Obviously, the work of some religious crank.

Not, ah, not life-threatening, would you say?

Well, I'm not a psychic, sir.

Miss Revelle claims to have no idea who sent them.

Her psychic powers are not programmed to deal with hate mail, apparently.

And what, ah, if you could be brief, sir, I'm needed in the kitchen.

What is the dish of the day?

Boiled pig's head, sir.

You were saying?

About three years ago, a local G.P., Dr. Madden, was assaulted on a night call by a couple of junkies after drugs, a dreadful business.

And what's that got to do with Faith Revelle, sir?

It was information supplied by Miss Revelle that led to the arrest of the assailants.

Ah, a law-abiding citizen?

Not exactly.

Not exactly, sir?

Miss Revelle came by this information from a rather dubious source.

[whispering] She had a vision, Crabbe.

Psychic vision.

-Right.

-Crabbe.

Sir, I'm trying to run a restaurant.

Steve, would you please find something for the Assistant Chief Constable to whip, that seems to be his forte.

Crabbe.

Look, sir, it's either here or nowhere.

Now, a vision, you were saying.

Well, naturally, when Revelle first turned up at the nick, I, I dismissed her as just some sort of nutter.

Well, the world's a broad church.

And you were desperate for a result?

Of course, I insisted on a press embargo.

What, she agreed to that?

At the time.

At the time, yeah.

Uh, yes, and now?

Her manager, Jim Shane, wants me to handle Miss Revelle's present difficulties personally- Or else he'll go to the press?

Yes, well, you can just see what the tabloids will make of that.

Senior police officer consults psychic medium.

Mind you, it didn't do Ronald Reagan any harm.

Crabbe, a woman's life is being threatened.

Oh, come on, sir, you don't seriously expect me to abandon my kitchen to babysit some second-rate fork bender, do you?

Cambridge will pick you up at 2:00.

What exactly have I been making here?

Gooseberry fool, sir.

[gentle music] Afternoon.

I have a room booked, the name's Cambridge.

Ah, room five, next to your friend, -Miss Revelle, as requested.

-Lovely.

If you'd like to sign there.

Hardly an auspicious start.

Well, the letters are coming to the theater, not the easiest of places to keep secrets.

Hmm.

[gentle music] Now, when you've got yourself settled in, phone the local newspaper and try and find out who talked about those letters, okay?

Meanwhile, I'll introduce myself to Miss Revelle.

-Inspector Crabbe?

-Yes.

Mr. Fisher told me to expect you.

Come in.

Thank you.

You know, your threatening letters have made headlines in the local papers?

Yes.

It won't make things worse, will it?

Well, not to our potential assailant, no.

May make him more cautious.

Hmm.

I see.

Um, have you mentioned these letters to a reporter?

I beg your pardon?

Well, it's in all our interests if the press were not involved.

Ah, and now I've got to ask you a rather obvious and boring question, I'm afraid.

Yes.

No.

Inspector, I have no idea who should wish to harm me.

Any recent disagreements?

Not that I'm aware of.

Although, people who are contacted don't necessarily hear from my lips what they would like to hear.

Well, if anyone springs to mind- Oh, if only they would.

I can tell you, Inspector, I find this entire business extremely unnerving.

I'm sure.

Look, ah, why not cancel the whole of the week?

Oh, I couldn't possibly do that, too many people depending on me.

What, employees or customers?

-Both, Inspector.

-Hm.

How long have you been a medium?

Well, I was a librarian until two years ago.

I gather from Mr. Fisher that you run a restaurant in your spare time.

And he highly recommended the steak and kidney pie.

I think I should try it one night.

Please do.

I must be going.

Um, Detective Sergeant Cambridge is just opposite.

She'll be keeping an eye out for you.

Ah, if you do want to leave the hotel, would you please let her know?

-[upbeat music] -♪ Slow down for walking... ♪ [music continues indistinctly] Have they got the builders in next door?

I don't think so.

Oh.

What's this?

Late lunch.

Hmm.

I thought I might take you out tonight.

Out?

What about the restaurant?

Well I'll talk to Steve, he reckons he can cope, and John says he'll do the bills.

-Where are we going?

-A show.

You are taking me to the theater, Henry?

This is wonderful.

What are we going to see?

Henry...

Put your trust in Faith.

It's quite biblical, really.

Well, you know Freddy Fisher, he'd consult a sheep's entrails if he thought it would further his career.

But a medium?

Well, she did get a result, Margaret, God knows how.

Look, I've got to go backstage and see Cambridge.

I'll meet you inside, all right?

All right.

-I won't be long.

-Hmm.

[audience chattering] -Everything all right?

-So far, sir.

Do we know who's, uh, told the newspaper?

No, whoever rang the reporter wouldn't leave a name.

-Was it a man or a woman?

-Couldn't tell, sir.

Oh, great.

So what's the situation here?

Well, I've had a word with the stage doorkeeper, and no one's ever seen the letters being delivered.

Is it worth putting someone on surveillance?

Waste of manpower, sir.

Letters never arrive at the same time.

Well, if she won't cancel, we'll just have to have a couple officers out there.

I have tried, but Miss Revelle seems to think the audience might sense them, put the punters off.

Not punters, Cambridge, they're her public.

Ah.

Which tonight, thanks to Mr. Fisher, includes me.

Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you've all been waiting for.

May I present Britain's most gifted psychic medium.

I didn't think you'd want one.

[Presenter] Miss Faith Revelle.

[audience applauds] Good evening.

[energetic music] [chickens clucking] Now we are cooking!

Table three are waiting for their vegetables.

Your mother seems quite distressed.

Is that possible?

Something to do with money?

Isn't it always?

She seems quite unhappy.

Why would that be?

Don't know.

She says that's not true.

Is it 'cause of there being no will?

She said she always meant to make one.

She says you always knew that.

It's basic police interviewing technique.

[Man] I told Marjorie mother wouldn't like it.

[Faith] Like what?

Us not giving the rest of the family anything.

Your mother wants you to put things right.

Prompting, echoing questions.

Any trainee P.C.

could do this.

Shh!

She says that money was meant for all of you.

Trust us, once you've shared the money, the pain will go.

[Margaret] Well, I think she's terrific.

[Henry] What?

There are 200 seats in that theater.

That's 200 people at 10 pounds a time, 2,000 pounds, plus all the extra sale, the show costs peanuts to put on.

You've got the rental of the theater, the rest is pure profit.

Miss Revelle's big business.

Margaret, she's exploiting innocent and, and, and vulnerable people.

Well, I didn't see anyone dragged kicking and screaming onto that stage, Henry.

Not everyone's quite as self-contained as you are.

[person knocking] Oh, come in, Mr. Crabbe.

-Hello.

-Hello.

Miss Revelle, I'd like you to meet my wife, Margaret.

-Oh.

Hello.

-Great show.

Thank you.

There's been another letter, sir.

"Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing."

-Anyone see this arrive?

-No.

Perhaps tomorrow, we can think again about a list of possible suspects?

Why don't you take Miss Revelle out on a picnic?

She doesn't want to spend all her time cooped up in that hotel.

Oh, Margaret, I don't think Miss Revelle- No, really, that would be lovely.

-If it's no trouble?

-No, we insist.

After all, you got us tickets for tonight's show.

It's the least Henry can do.

Thought you didn't want to go on this picnic?

I still don't, but I intend to enjoy the food when I get there.

Ugh, sweet is revenge, especially to women.

Well, Margaret, anyway.

I think she thought I was gonna take her to something Sir Simon Rattle-ish.

Two dozen.

Can you believe it?

Productivity's soaring.

Thanks.

Darling, you're not still sulking, are you?

If the conversation flags, get her to tell you your fortune.

I wanted to go and see Henderson today.

Well, take Miss Revelle with you.

Certainly not.

He'll want to talk about potato futures.

[gentle music] There isn't anyone trying to get through, is there?

[Faith] Don't worry, Inspector, I've taken the day off.

I'm having my calls rerouted.

Is there someone you want to talk to?

[Henry] Why?

Is there someone who wants to talk to me?

[Faith] Is this some kind of test?

I don't do party tricks, Inspector.

Besides, graveyards aren't very good places for picking up messages, too many crossed lines.

[Henry] [sighs] Why did you decide to become a medium?

[Faith] It isn't something you choose.

I just am.

But, uh, have you always known you've had these, uh, powers?

In a way.

I think for a long time, I tried to ignore them.

Well, that's understandable.

Hmm, you're very cynical.

What would you do if you heard voices in your head?

I'm not sure.

Go to the doctor?

Be labeled a schizophrenic?

Well, mercifully, I've never had the problem.

Tell me, what did you see on stage last night?

Some ridiculous female spouting Christmas cracker philosophy?

Is that what you believe?

I asked you.

Is that what you saw?

Yes.

"Look not upon the wine when it is red."

Proverbs.

Just a glass, surely.

Oh, please.

You know your Bible well.

My parents were very strict.

Does the responsibility for what you do frighten you?

I merely the cipher.

Well, yes, but anyone can receive information.

It's how you interpret it that counts.

Tell me about the Madden case.

You must know?

Dr. Madden was viciously attacked.

No, no, no your part in it?

Oh.

One night, I saw two faces.

-Where?

-In my mind.

Had you ever seen them before?

In the library the day after the attack, 'cause I was still working there then.

These boys, whereabouts in the library were they?

The reference section, I think.

[Henry] Looking at medical books?

Consulting the pharmacopeia?

No.

Checking to see what drugs they'd nicked?

No.

I'm trying to find a rational explanation, you see.

You must have had a hard time persuading Mr. Fisher to take you seriously?

No, not really.

He simply insisted that I didn't tell the press.

Would have been wonderful publicity.

A man lay in hospital.

What sort of person do you think I am?

I don't believe it, it's doing it again.

What?

Separate, my hollandaise sauce never separates.

Try it with a drop of cold water.

That usually does the trick.

Go on.

Nah, nah, there's something wrong with the eggs or the butter, or something like that, I don't know.

Oh, get it together, you poxy sauce!

[Faith] We're all friends here.

There's nothing to fear.

You and I know that no one is ever truly lost.

There's been another letter, sir.

-Anybody see it delivered?

-No.

But Shane says he found it when he came in this afternoon.

"The wages of sin is death.

You have been warned."

Well, that's interesting.

Sir?

Most people misquote this as, "The wages of sin are death."

Obviously, this is written by someone who's well-read, or religious, or both.

[suspenseful music] No news as yet, I'm afraid.

I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything.

Yes.

I know you will.

You know, you and Jim Shane seem an unlikely partnership.

Well, it was all due to Jim I turned professional.

Oh, how's that?

Well, I helped a few people locally.

Word got about, and Jim came to see me.

What, to contact someone?

Initially.

And then he signed you up right away?

Oh, Jim's always believed in me.

And now, thank goodness, it's paying off.

♪ You make me holler... ♪ Six more since this morning.

[chuckling] It's a miracle.

[phone ringing] Hello, Pie in the Sky?

Oh, right.

Um, sorry.

Okay, bye.

There's been a complaint.

We're gonna have to keep the noise down.

-What noise?

-I'd be careful, if I were you.

Remember what it's doing to the chickens?

Well, boxers, comics, psychic medium, bit of a mixed stable.

What do you want, Crabbe?

Do you believe Faith Revelle has psychic powers?

It doesn't matter what I believe.

No, no, no, no, but, uh, do you?

Inspector, I make my money between the client and the punter.

Faith makes hers between the living and the dead.

We're just middlemen.

Same as you.

Yes.

Now, three years ago, when Faith helped solve the Madden case, she decided not to talk to the press.

Did you agree with that?

No.

So, why did you go along with it?

Faith would have left me.

She'd given her word.

And she is one of your more successful clients.

On the whole.

Bookings are down at next week's venue, but, uh, like I told Faith, it's a temporary blip, it's nothing personal.

In your book, is any publicity good publicity?

Yeah.

And would that extend so far as sending her threatening letters and informing the local paper?

Crabbe, if I were organizing a publicity stunt, it would involve the national tabloids, and very large checks.

Ah, it's humiliating.

Oh come on, Steve, it can happen to anybody.

What if you're missing something obvious because you're so frustrated with yourself?

It might not be the batter at all.

What if it's the wrong sort of fat?

I only ever use beef dripping.

"Accept no substitutes," you said, and you're right, Chef.

Hmm.

Well, what if it's the heat?

Have you got it to the right temperature?

Yeah, I wait until I see a faint blue haze, and then I stick the batter in it.

Yeah, and the cooking time?

Top shelf, 20 minutes.

Hmm, good, good.

Well, that's fair enough.

Ah, but whatever you do, don't open the oven doors for 10 minutes after you put it in, otherwise, the batter will just drop.

Yeah, I know that, Chef.

I never do that.

Yeah.

I'll just heat this pizza up.

Thanks.

If, on the other hand, owing to circumstances entirely beyond your own control, the door is opened, then just call them batter puddings, and serve them with a thick onion gravy.

Mr. Fisher to see you, sir.

Ah, did he want to see a menu?

No.

Perfect.

Just perfect.

-Yes, sir.

-I've had Jim Shane on the phone using words like harassment.

He said you accused him of sending the letters.

That's not true, sir.

I was just prodding, that's all.

This is a very delicate matter.

So I see, sir.

Let Shane alone!

Sir, Jim Shane has absolutely no intention whatsoever of going public with this Madden case story, if that's what's bothering you.

Just get Revelle through the week without a major incident, will you?

Aren't we getting all of this a little out of proportion, sir?

Other police officers have admitted they have dealings with mediums.

I am not other police officers.

I'm assistant chief constable of a modern force.

I use computers, criminal psychologists.

I don't consult Gypsy Rose Lee when I can't crack a case.

Is that clear?

Yes, sir.

Crystal.

[gentle music] [audience applauds] Good evening.

I haven't seen any of our usual crowd of cranks.

-How about you?

-No, sir.

Remember, we're all friends here.

There's nothing to fear.

There's a young kid getting up.

Male, 18 or 19.

Ever truly lost, simply hidden from view.

[mysterious music] Now tonight, we're going to reach out, and draw back that curtain.

If you're so bloody good, there's someone I want to speak to.

What?

I said there's someone I want to speak to.

What?

I, I can't just- [Jez] I need to speak to someone.

I can't guarantee anything.

I'll risk it.

All right.

I'll try.

Now, what's your name?

Jez Leigh.

And who would you like to come forward, Jez?

Sally.

Sally, your girlfriend?

Has she been gone a long time, Jez?

Yeah.

[mysterious music] Jez.

Sally.

She's here.

She's here, she's with us.

Sally, she's with us.

Where?

She's coming through now, she's happy.

She, she wants you to know that she's happy.

Ask her, ask her why she did it?

Calm down, Jez.

It's all right for her.

I said, it's all right for you.

What about me, eh?

You've landed me right in it, do you know that?

-It's a mess.

-Sally.

A bloody mess.

[mysterious music continues] What am I supposed to do?

Ask her.

Go on, ask the stupid bitch.

Jez, we will lose her!

Do you understand?

Wait for my signal, okay?

You, you, you said you loved her.

-That was before.

-Sally's saying she loves you, Jez.

Why are you doing this?

You're spoiling everything.

She's the one that wrecked it.

How can she rest knowing you're so upset?

She can't bear to see you like this.

She shouldn't have died, then, should she?

Well, she did.

Forgive yourself, it wasn't your fault.

What?

[mysterious music continues] Don't you understand?

It wasn't your fault.

She wouldn't say.

It's all lies!

Do you hear?

It's got nothing to do with you!

-Nothing!

-Jez, please!

Just shut it!

Shut it!

You know nothing!

You know nothing!

Nothing!

You hear me?

Nothing!

Are you all right?

Yes, I'm fine.

-Are you sure?

-Yes.

Thank you.

[Presenter] Everything's under control.

What should I tell the audience?

The show's over.

No, just give me a minute.

Ask them to be patient.

Maybe if I offer them tickets for another night?

I'll be fine.

Have you ever seen Jez Leigh before?

No, never.

Right.

She okay?

I'm Detective Inspector Crabbe.

This is Detective Sergeant Cambridge.

We've been expecting you.

I didn't write any letters.

Why did you come here tonight?

To talk to Sally.

It was to attack Miss Revelle, wasn't it?

-No.

-What would you have done if we hadn't have stopped you and dragged you away, you'd have killed her.

No, course not.

So I shouldn't have pushed her, but she wound me up.

Is that why you sent all those threatening letters to the stage door?

Oh what flaming letters?

How did she wind you up, Jez?

Over Sally.

What about the power of prayer, Jez?

-Eh?

-"O death, where is thy sting?

O grave, where is thy victory?"

Come again?

The presence of God, Jez, the comfort of His words.

People like you make me sick.

People like what?

Okay, if God's so bloody marvelous, how come Sal's dead?

You ever been in trouble before, Jez?

Yeah, all right.

A couple of convictions for dipping.

But that ticket tonight was legit.

And not the wages of sin?

Well?

Leigh didn't send those letters.

-You sure?

-Positive.

Something's troubling him, but whatever it is, it's got nothing to do with Miss Revelle.

[chickens squawking] What on earth keeps disturbing them?

Urban fox on the prowl, sir?

Oh, Cambridge!

Sir?

Mmm, Henry Crabbe's very own eggs Florentine.

Ah, Florence.

Now, there's a city.

-Have you ever been there?

-No, always wanted to.

Maybe after the book launch.

Well, whatever else you do insist on the wild boar salami.

It's wonderful.

Thank you, John.

Now, does Jim Shane take a percentage of your book sales?

Yes.

He negotiated the fee.

Ah, so, he could have sent those letters?

Why on Earth should he?

Well, publicity, something to feed the hacks, like the one who tipped off the man at the local paper.

Oh, you think Jim was responsible for that?

No.

Absolutely not.

No, I think you tipped them off.

Because you were worried about the bookings being down at your next theater.

It was you that talked to them, wasn't it?

It was just business, Mr. Crabbe.

We may as well get something useful out of those awful letters.

Is there anything else you think I ought to know?

[suspenseful music] -Excuse me?

-Yeah?

Um, do you skate here every day?

It'll cost ya.

Oh, yeah, what's the going rate for 60 seconds, then?

-Couple of quid.

-A couple of quid?

That's 120 pounds an hour!

It's a seller's market.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Uh, now, apart from the postman, have you seen anybody delivering letters to the stage door here?

Why?

Uh, look, I'll ask the questions, you do the answers.

Don't tell me, you do this for a living, right?

Jimmy's your man.

-Jimmy?

-Oscar's Burger Bar.

Jimmy's the one with the ring through his nose.

Oscar's Burger Bar.

Ring through his nose.

It will be there, okay?

Thank you.

I need some information, Jimmy.

I'm interested in special deliveries to the stage door at the theater this week.

Letters?

I don't do anything that ain't legit.

No, it's understood.

[Jimmy] Yeah, I delivered a couple.

-Who for?

-A woman.

Have you got a description?

She was, uh, you know, medium height, short hair.

Age?

Getting on a bit, about the same as you.

Um, clothes?

Wedding rings?

Light mac.

Oh, yeah, and this, uh, medallion thing.

Medallion?

Right.

Oh, Miss Revelle.

I need to see Inspector Crabbe immediately.

She won't say what it's about, and she really is in a terrible state.

-Is that so?

-Mm-hmm.

[Cambridge knocking] Oh, thank God.

-This case in the paper- -What case?

Um, the missing girl, I know who's responsible.

No, no, no, no, no, stop.

Miss Revelle.

Oh no, you must just trust me, Inspector.

You really are a most remarkable woman.

Thank you.

Not content with sending yourself threatening letters.

What?

Now you want to trespass on another family's grief.

-I'm sorry?

-To be followed, I suppose, by a press conference at the grave site.

I ought to do you for wasting police time.

I don't understand.

Look, if I find out that you've approached that dead girl's family, if you've pestered them in any way, I shall see that you face serious charges.

Good day.

Another dozen.

-A souffle then, Chef, eh?

-Whatever!

-Henry?

-What?

Don't take it out on the rest of us.

[sighs] I'm sorry.

Making bread usually helps.

I'm just so angry!

I'm angry with me, I'm angry with her.

I mean, even if I didn't believe it, you'd think she could.

Even if she didn't believe it herself, at least she'd be motivated by a desire to help people.

So she lied about the letter?

Exactly.

She lied.

Well, maybe she didn't lie about anything else.

Well, how would anybody know?

Henry, it's a case.

Fisher asked you to solve it, you solved it.

No.

I got it wrong, Margaret.

[telephone ringing] I thought she was one of the good guys.

Pie in the Sky?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, hang on.

It's for you, Chef.

Will you take a message?

I'm busy.

Well, it's Cambridge, and she said it's important.

[Henry roaring] What do you want?

[mysterious music] April Reynolds apprehended by the stage doorkeeper, 10:40 AM, delivering an anonymous letter.

-Addressed to Miss Revelle?

-Correct.

Did she send the other letters?

Yes.

Did she say why?

Deeply religious, apparently.

She considers disturbing the dead a punishable sin, at least before the day of judgment.

[Henry sighs] What have I done, Cambridge?

I'm afraid Miss Revelle's gone out.

Do you know where she's gone?

No, sorry.

But she did ask to see a telephone directory.

Hmm.

What was that paper she was waving around?

Barstock Gazette, sir.

Thanks.

"Body identified as Sally Davis."

Sally.

"Sally loves you, Jez."

[mysterious music] That's it, she's going to see Jez Leigh.

[Cambridge] You said yourself, you didn't think Leigh would deliberately harm Miss Revelle.

The boy's unstable.

Besides, that was before I had him down as a possible murderer.

-Hello, Jez.

-Get out of here.

I know about Sally.

-I'll break your foot.

-Please?

You're messing about, lady.

Don't you think you ought to listen to what I have to say?

[mysterious music continues] 29, 30, 31, 32, 35.

Here it is.

When's that backup due?

[Cambridge] In about five minutes.

Right, I'll go through the front, you go round the back, all right?

[radio squawking] [Jez] So what do you want?

[Faith] I'm just here to help, I want to talk to you.

I'm just here to help.

[Jez] You can't help me.

You all right?

-Mr. Crabbe?

-What are you doing here?

Look, you know you wanted to talk to someone.

That's why you go to the theater last night.

No, just wait a minute, Mr. Crabbe.

[somber music] Tell us.

Sally?

You can just tell us.

Sally Davis.

She's very pretty, Sally.

You must have had a good time together.

Yeah.

She was wild.

Always larking about.

Why didn't you tell anyone she was your girlfriend?

I've got previous, right?

Her Dad would have kicked up a storm.

Must have been exciting, meeting in secret?

Sally thought it was great.

When you said, she loved larking about, what do you mean?

Stood on the edge of the quarry, that sort of thing.

Gave me a buzz.

And what happened on that last night?

Tell us.

It's easier to talk.

She'd had a couple of cans of... a smoke.

Nothing.

Only, she was there, and she... Go on.

I saw her panicking, trying to get back, scream me name.

Then there were sot of stones rolling down, big silence.

What, what did you do?

I waited.

What for?

For the tape to rewind, you know?

Her back on the edge, giving me a buzz.

I thought, "If I don't move, it'd be all right."

How long did you stay there?

I don't know.

But later, you went down later?

Yeah.

And what about Sally?

Sally won't mind if you tell us.

Her neck was twisted funny, and there was blood.

And, uh, her eyes kept staring.

[somber music continues] Was she still alive, Jez?

I told her to stop mucking about.

I kicked her.

But she'd had it.

So, then you buried her?

I've got a record.

I knew what you'd think.

Nothing's gone right since.

Stupid, crazy bitch.

[sobbing] -Morning.

-Morning, sir.

Thought I'd come in in person, familiarize myself with the scene.

It's a good day's work, Crabbe.

Two for the price of one, eh?

Well, sort of, sir, yes.

I said the writer of those letters was a religious crank, didn't I?

Yes, yes, indeed, you did.

Organize a press conference for this afternoon.

Getting a result on the Sally Davis body within 24 hours is tremendous value.

It's wasn't exactly my collar, sir.

-Whose then?

Cambridge?

-No.

It was, uh, Miss Revelle, sir.

Reve- She didn't have a- Vision, sir?

Yeah.

Containment exercise, Crabbe.

I'll handle the press, you deal with Miss Revelle.

Right.

[dog barking] I owe you an apology.

Funny thing is, I'm grateful to you.

Me what for?

When you walked out this morning, it was down to me.

I couldn't just pass the information on and let someone else deal with it.

I made a bad mistake there.

You were the one who pointed out that Jez Leigh had something else on his mind.

Well, that's just about all I did.

Not exactly.

If I'm honest, up till now I've never been really certain whose voice I was hearing.

Does it matter?

To me, very much.

With Jez Leigh, it was different.

How?

Even before today, I sensed Sally Davis' story.

I heard her so clearly.

You never said anything.

You're an old cynic, Henry Crabbe.

No, no, no, not at all.

No, I happen to think you've got some of the most important abilities a detective can have.

-What?

-Well, the ability to listen, and the strength and conviction to follow your instincts.

Thank you.

Abilities I've so miserably failed to put into practice myself.

Oh, I don't agree.

You said something far more important than that.

What's that?

Having the guts to admit you were wrong.

[energetic music] You sure you wouldn't like me to drive you to the door, sir?

Absolutely, this is perfect.

Okay.

Bye, sir.

Bye-bye, Cambridge.

[energetic music] ♪ Party in to the place, let's go ♪ ♪ Party in to the place, let's go ♪ ♪ Party in to the place, let's go ♪ ♪ Party in to the place, let's go ♪ [chickens squawking] "Dweeb Divine's Greatest Remix."

I do apologize.

What is this?

Uh, it's um, scratch 'n mix.

Scratch 'n mix?

And what was it doing playing in the hen house?

Egg productivity, Henry.

Would you care to elaborate on that, Margaret?

Those chickens didn't know the meaning of the word work.

Definitely chilled out.

Chilled out?

Yeah, and, and how is this supposed to help?

Well, we thought a bit of in-house, techno-dance music would get 'em going a bit more than that boring Elgar.

Boring Elgar?

And before you get elitist about this, Henry, it's been a great success, productivity's trebled.

But at what cost?

What do you mean, at what cost?

Steve, how many of those hollandaise Uh, three, Chef.

Three, that's three dozen eggs, right?

And how many of those Yorkshire puddings failed to rise, apart from acts of pizza woman?

Uh, about 24?

About 24.

Three dozen, two dozen, five dozen eggs wasted, all gone to waste, not to mention the wear and tear on my peace of mind.

See, Margaret, stressed out chickens lay stressed out eggs.

Happy and contented chickens lay happy and contented eggs.

Eggs that go wobbling up to olive oil and say, "Let's make mayonnaise."

It's a well-known fact.

Quality is nearly always sacrificed when it comes to quantity.

Except in your case, Henry.

Except in, oh, shut up.

[upbeat music]