(DOOR OPENS)
Here he comes.
(GENE) Terry Haslam.
Who does he think he is? Joe Bugner?
(BELL RINGS)
(MAN) Court Number Three is now in session.
The Crown versus Haslam.
Mr Mackay. As you have already said,
the boxing match in question was an extremely fierce one.
So hard-fought, in fact, you injured your hand seriously enough
to require medical attention following the bout.
- Is that true? - Aye.
Would it also be true to say that it was your manager, Mr Haslam,
the man you called your second father,
who ensured you received that treatment in timely fashion?
It would.
And that treatment is what you were discussing with Mr Haslam
on the fire escape outside the hall
when you unfortunately lost your footing,
slipped and fell down the stairs, causing further injury?
Aye.
He did not push you?
No. It was an accident. Mr Haslam was trying to help me.
I swear by Almighty God
that the evidence I shall give
shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
Good afternoon, Chief Inspector. As we have heard,
Mr Mackay says he was the victim of no more than an unfortunate accident.
Bearing in mind you were, by your own admission,
"slightly intoxicated" and at least 20 yards away at the time,
can you confirm that what you witnessed was an accident?
Mr Hunt?
I know what you'd like me to say.
But I know what I saw. And what I saw
was him
kicking seven types of shit out of him.
(PEOPLE MURMUR)
Do you find this defendant guilty or not guilty
of inflicting grievous bodily harm?
- Not guilty. - (MAN) Yes!
- You are joking me! - (JUDGE RAPS GAVEL)
Order! Order!
The jury was nobbled.
Well, if the victim suddenly decides it was all an unhappy accident,
what do you expect them to do?
What happened, Davie?
You got it all wrong.
I saw you destroy a man's life.
I made him. I broke him.
He's not the first and he won't be the last.
- I'll bloody kill you. - Have your go.
Come on. Walk away.
Broke his hand. Broke his life.
No, no, no, no.
No, he broke his soul.
- I'll drive you home. - Gimme the ruddy keys.
No. You're drunk.
(GENE) Stop! Stop.
- This is it. - You sure?
- Haslam! - Oi, Guv!
- You arse-faced bastard! - Guv?
- Show us your face! - Will you keep your voice down?
Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa! What you doing?
- Haslam! - Bloody hell.
- Put that away. Put that away! - Come on out!
Put it away. Put it away! Come on.
I'll have you! Bastard!
- (GRUNTS) - Behave yourself.
Hunt! I'll break your legs, you bastard! Get here!
- Haslam! - Bastard! Bastard!
Get out the car! Bastard!
Bring you down next time, you bent bastard!
- What the hell was all that about? - Stop the car.
- What? - Stop the car!
Why?
- I dropped my gun. - What?
I've dropped my gun.
Where you going now? Guv!
- Gene. Gene! - Why don't you just piss off?
(PHONE RINGS STRIDENTLY)
- Hello? - (MAN) He'll come to you.
He'll ask for your help.
(CLICK, DISCONNECTED TONE)
- (PHONE RINGS) - (STATIC AND DISCONNECTED TONE)
(PHONE RINGS)
- (WOMAN SCREAMS) - (PHONE RINGS)
(PHONE RINGS)
- Hello? - (GENE) Sam?
Guv.
- What do you want? - I, um...
I appear to have killed a man.
My name is Sam Tyler.
I had an accident and I woke up in 1973.
Am I mad, in a coma, or back in time?
Whatever's happened, it's like I've landed on a different planet.
Now, maybe if I can work out the reason, I can get home.
Well, at least he got what he deserved. Fat bastard.
What happened?
I don't know.
I don't.
I woke up over there.
He was the first thing I saw, which gave me a bit of a turn.
- How did you get here? - I don't know.
The last thing I remember is taking a swing for you in the pub.
Look, I know it looks bad.
Well, that's the understatement of the century.
You may remember threatening the victim's life
in front of a dozen or so witnesses. At the courthouse?
- I didn't kill him. - How did you get here?
- I don't know. - Great (!)
- Where's your gun? - What?
Your gun. Where's your gun?
You were waving it about like Charles Bronson on crack a few hours ago.
You went back for it. Where is it?
- I don't know. - OK...
- You woke up here? - Yeah.
- It's been fired. - (APPROACHING SIREN)
Oh, shit.
You know they're going to have to arrest you.
So why did you call me?
Because if this goes the way it looks like it's going,
I want you to lead the investigation.
You need my help?
Just be the picky pain in the arse you usually are, and I shall be fine.
(BOLTS DOOR)
Get me out, Sam.
(BUZZ OF CONVERSATION)
- What's happening? - What's happening with the Guv?
- Wait. - He can't have killed anybody.
- He hasn't been charged yet. - It's got to be a mistake.
- There's no way... - He can't have been that drunk.
He was hammered. And he did threaten the victim.
Look, I'm not saying he did it, but it looks bad.
But looks aren't enough to hang anyone.
As the man said, it's the evidence that counts.
And you are?
Frank Morgan. Acting DCI.
As your boss currently languishes in a holding cell on a murder charge,
the powers that be have replaced him,
albeit temporarily, I'm sure we all hope, with me.
Far as you're concerned, for the immediate future,
I am the word and the law.
- DI Tyler? - Um... yeah.
Good.
You must be DC Cartwright.
DS Carling. DC Skelton.
We'll start with one-on-ones in my office, please, which would be...?
Er... I don't...
Well, I imagine it would be that one.
Good.
Let's kick off, shall we?
Fine.
You were first on scene?
I was.
Good.
(CHUCKLES) Why did he call you?
Well, I suppose he trusts me.
Just as it should be.
- Sir. - Did he do it?
Without the postmortem and forensics,
I'm not prepared to make a judgement on that.
Gut feeling?
No.
Whatever he is, he's not a killer.
Well, let's see where the evidence takes us.
I'll lead the first interview.
I'll bring him up.
Thanks, Sam.
I'm sure everything will go as it should.
What did he say, boss? What's he like?
Well, he seems very professional.
Bastard. That's all we need.
Well, yeah, Ray.
Under the circumstances, I think it probably is.
- He's doing an overview, isn't he? - Yes, Chris, I think he is.
Did you get that from him, or did he get that from you?
- What do you mean? - He's from Hyde, isn't he?
(SNORTS) And we all know what they're like. Don't we?
Actually, I've never had the pleasure of meeting your DI.
Carling, when you're ready?
Well, come on then, twinkletoes. Strut your stuff.
Acting DCI Morgan will be conducting the interview.
Who?
He's from Hyde.
Oh, great (!)
- What's he like? - I've only just met him myself.
So how are we going to deal with him?
- Deal with him? - Mm.
He leads the investigation. There are no deals.
Oh, come on. Where's the picky pain?
Look...
I will ensure this investigation is carried out in as transparent...
I don't want see-through. I want fast.
- You are a murder suspect. - (CHUCKLES WRYLY)
We can't give you the keys
and say, "Just put them through the letterbox when you're done."
- Get me out. - I can't.
No, no, what you mean is you won't.
Talk to Davie Mackay.
- Why? - You were in court yesterday.
Now, you know as well as I do
that something smelt bad about the whole thing.
And it wasn't just your aftershave.
- Look, why should I? - I see you've already started.
Oh, fuck.
- You're taping the interview? - Should be standard practice.
I find it keeps everyone honest.
July 17th, 1973.
Present at interview: DCI Frank Morgan, DI Sam Tyler, DCI Gene Hunt.
Two bullets retrieved from Haslam's house.
Same calibre as police issue.
DCI Hunt's clothing. Stained with blood.
Witness statement from a neighbour woken by "bellowing and cursing".
She looked out of her window to see this man
throwing a brick through the victim's window around midnight.
She was woken again by shouting from the same man at 3.30am.
Based on body temperature,
the pathologist's report puts time of death at 4.00am.
Does he?
I understand that you claim to have no memory at all
of any of events between leaving the Railway Arms at 11.30 last night
and waking up in the victim's house at half past seven this morning.
Right.
Quite a lot to forget, don't you think?
- You all right, Guv? - Never been better.
It's a fit-up, Guv. It's obvious.
Obvious.
(GENE) Remember the picky pain, Sam.
(LIFT BELL DINGS)
What do you think?
It's not what I think that matters, is it? It's what we find.
I'm looking for Davie Mackay.
Police.
- What is it? - Terry Haslam's dead.
Aye. I heard.
You were lying, weren't you, in court?
It wasn't an accident, was it? Haslam beat you up.
I suppose it does nae matter now, eh?
Aye. He hit me. Did this.
- Why? - Had it coming.
How?
It's no easy life, boxing. You sacrifice a lot.
It was my last fight. Legs had gone. I knew it.
Once your legs have gone...
I needed a payday.
Mr Haslam set me up with a good bout. Second on the bill, decent money.
Out with a bang.
Even a win wasn't enough.
Decent cash wasn't enough.
I stole from him.
Broke into his office after the fight.
Broke his heart.
So he broke my hand.
I let him down. Had it coming.
What money?
What money did you steal?
All I knew was Pete and Mr Haslam
kept their cash in a money box in the office.
Pete who?
Pete Wilkes.
My trainer.
(MORGAN) With all due respect, Mr Merrick...
Yeah. Given that you've not yet charged my esteemed client,
I don't see how you've had the brass to hold him as long as you have.
I think I've explained we're awaiting further testimony
before sending the case to Discipline and Complaints for a decision.
That's hardly my client's problem.
Oh, with the very greatest respect, Detective Chief Inspector,
put up or shut up.
Considering the nature of the offence...
# No more shall they in bondage toil
- And... and the fact... - # Let my people go
Taking into consideration...
(MIMICS LOUIS ARMSTRONG) # Go down, Moses
# Go down, down to Egypt land
# Tell old Pharaoh
# Let my people go... aaah! #
(SIGHS)
In spite of your inappropriate behaviour,
under the circumstances,
I am willing to release DCI Hunt on police bail.
- On condition... - Condition?
- ...he reports to the police... - Conditions? (LAUGHS)
Oh, no. No, no, no, no. (LAUGHS UPROARIOUSLY)
Conditions? (LAUGHS)
(COUGHS AND SPLUTTERS)
(HAWKS)
I'm fine, I'm fine. (SIGHS)
Come on, lovely lad. We're done.
D'you know, there were moments in that cell
when I despaired I'd ever see your lovely face again.
It's a pleasure doing business with you.
- You know where to find me. - (PHYLLIS) Come on.
Yeah, the nearest sewer.
He got me out.
- You seen Davie Mackay yet? - Yeah.
His fighting days were over well before he got his hand broken.
He decided to help himself to a retirement package
from a cash box in the boxing club.
Davie robbed from Haslam?
Haslam and a guy called Pete Wilkes. Davie's trainer.
- Do you know him? - No.
How come you were there the night Haslam broke Davie's hand?
Went to see the fight.
Davie was past his prime, but, er... if you wanted to see a real fighter,
spit and blood, balls like a buffalo, he was your man.
Let me know what you find.
- Why should I do that? - 'Cause we're both coppers. Keys.
- Keep DCI Hunt under surveillance. - What?
We know what he's capable of.
I wouldn't want our witnesses
experiencing his more abrupt methods of persuasion.
You're joking, aren't you?
Well, unless you think this suspect deserves special treatment...
- No, but you can't... - Good.
Look, I know it's not a very pleasant job,
but I'm sure you two will do it to the best of your abilities.
We need to rebuild public confidence in the police force.
An efficient investigation is one way, public relations is another.
What?
Nothing. I just...
I never thought I'd hear the phrase "public relations" in this room.
Well, with PR in mind,
I have a very special assignment for DC Cartwright.
Hearts and minds, Annie. Hearts and minds.
Road bloody safety.
Well, you know, this case...
it could get messy, so... probably better off out of it.
Well, thanks for your support, Inspector.
- Ray's right, isn't he? - What do you mean?
You're both from Hyde.
Oi.
Sam?
I might have turned up a very interesting line of enquiry.
Really?
A man called Pete Wilkes. He's the trainer at Haslam's.
Wilkes?
Great minds think alike.
Come on.
It's all coming together.
Sorry to keep you waiting, Mr Wilkes. Please, take a seat.
I thought I might...
No, I'm sure I can handle Mr Wilkes. I think we're on the same track.
Why don't you check up on the others? Show your face.
The latest nail in Hunt's coffin.
(SLAM)
(CAR RADIO PLAYS ROXY MUSIC'S "VIRGINIA PLAIN")
# Take me on a roller coaster...
- What are you doing here? - Visiting our erstwhile leader.
- Who? - Has he left the house?
No. His, er... his wife left about twelve.
- At least we think it's his wife. - It was his wife.
- She's put weight on, then. - She carries it well, though.
Hey, there's nothing wrong with a bit of meat in the right places. (LAUGHS)
Are there any other movements I should be aware of?
Dropped a couple of brown trout in the bookie's khazi an hour ago.
Meter man called round. But he was only there about five minutes.
Thank you.
No problem.
(MUSIC: ROXY MUSIC'S "VIRGINIA PLAIN")
# Throw me a line, I'm sinking fast
# Clutching at straws...
- Is Gene there? - Are you Ray?
No. I'm Sam. Who are you?
Meter man.
Gene said to tell the first one to knock that you're a useless tosser.
- (CHUCKLES) - (CAR HORN TOOTS)
# Teenage rebel of the week...
You let the prime suspect in a murder case
walk right past you in broad daylight?!
- We didn't expect... - That might be acceptable to Hunt,
but I can assure you it is not acceptable to me!
Now get out of my sight!
I want every officer in this force out looking for Hunt.
When you find him, I want to know where he's been.
The Guv's no killer.
(UNDER BREATH) Tosser.
I wasn't expecting much from this unit, but, Christ!
How can you operate as an effective officer in a place like this?
- I don't know. - It's a very sticky case.
We need to double-check every detail. Tick all of the boxes.
Keep your eye on the prize, Sam.
(MORGAN) What are we waiting for?
- (WOMAN) Operator. - I need Hyde.
Hyde 2612.
One moment, please.
- Connecting you now. - (CLICKING)
- Hello? - (SAM) Hello?
- Who is this? - (SAM'S ECHO) Who is this?
- Who are you? What do you want? - Who are you? What do you want?
(THUDS)
(ELECTRICAL FIZZING)
(THUDS AND GRUNTS)
(YELLS)
- (MAN #1) ...nothing to do with me. - (MAN #2) (INDISTINCT)
(MAN #2) I don't believe you.
Guv?
Guv.
I've already spoken to your boss.
Yeah? Well, now, Mr Wilkes, you can speak to me.
- Who owns this club? - Terry Haslam.
- Now that Terry's dead? - I don't know.
So control of this club doesn't pass over to you?
I'm a trainer. I train fighters.
Terry was the businessman. We made a good team. While it lasted.
Bob and weave, son, bob and weave!
Meaning what?
Meaning it's time for me to join the pension queue.
How much money did you lose when Davie Mackay stole that cash?
- Davie? What cash? - From the money box in your office.
What? Nobody stole any money.
- Who are you covering for? - No one stole any money.
- What was Haslam up to? - Look, I told Inspector Morgan.
I don't know what was in that envelope.
What envelope?
- Could have been holiday brochures. - What envelope?
Night of Davie's last fight. The night he had his accident.
Haslam came back here while I was cleaning.
Gave me an envelope, asked me to pass it on to Mr Hunt. I did.
You know Gene Hunt?
Oh, yeah. He and Terry Haslam go way back.
Mr Hunt'd come down and watch the odd training session.
He's more than just a fan. Got a good eye for a fighter, has Mr Hunt.
- I bet he has. - Watch his left. Come on! Move!
(ANNIE AND CHILDREN CHORUS) At the kerb, halt.
Look right, look left.
Look right again.
And if it's all clear, quick march!
(ANNIE SHRIEKS)
Aren't you supposed to stop people from getting knocked over?
- If you've just come for a laugh... - No, I haven't, I haven't.
Well, why have you come here, then?
It's the Guv.
He said he never knew Davie's trainer, Pete Wilkes.
Wilkes has known him for years.
He gave him an envelope on the night of Davie's last fight.
An envelope from Haslam.
So you think Haslam paid Gene to keep quiet about breaking Davie's hand?
He told me he'd stopped all that.
He swore he would never...
I knew something was going on, you know, in that courtroom.
The way Gene and Haslam looked at each other. Unspoken messages.
But Sam, Gene testified against him.
Maybe he didn't pay him enough. I don't know.
But what I do know is,
Gene was on the take.
And it's wrong, it's all wrong.
Well, then he did it.
He crossed the line.
He killed a man. You always said Gene didn't know when to stop.
I trusted him.
So did I. We all did.
You know, without trust, you've got nothing.
Who am I supposed to believe in now?
(PHYLLIS) DI Tyler, come in.
- Where are you? - Here, Phyllis.
- What happened? - Knockout in the fifth.
- Hunt. - What?
No, I can't believe it. He can't have done.
Hunt deliberately slipped your less than effective surveillance.
We have two witnesses who say he turned up here earlier
and argued with Wilkes.
Wilkes swore Hunt's relationship with Haslam was antagonistic.
What is it you find so hard to believe?
- Yeah, but... - They saw him here!
Face it.
OK, gentlemen, shall we proceed? Now get out there and find Gene Hunt!
The best thing we can do, the only thing we can do,
is our job.
So we gather evidence, we make our case and we bring him in.
Shut up.
- What I'm trying to say... - I don't care.
So shut your sodding mouth.
- Ray... - Sergeant Carling to you. Sir.
Don't do something you might regret.
What I do regret is the day you walked onto my beat.
Now, you might get to be my DCI, but don't think for one minute
you'll be a tenth of the copper Gene Hunt was.
You're a good policeman, sir.
You've taught me a lot.
But it won't be the same without the Guv.
You took your time.
What are you doing?
I'm giving you up.
No, you're not.
- Yes, I am. - No, you're not.
- You killed somebody. - No, I did not.
- I saw you in the boxing club. - I needed to speak to Wilkes.
In the course of which you hung him from the ropes and slit his throat.
What?
That's how they found him.
You told me you didn't know him.
I didn't do it, Sam. Neither of them.
Sam. I swear.
I swear to you I did not kill those men.
Why should I believe you?
Because you trust me! Like I trust you.
- Why did you need to talk to him? - I thought he'd know who framed me.
And why on earth would somebody want to do that?
Because I didn't do what I was supposed to.
Terry Haslam dragged himself out of the gutter
using his fists and his brain.
Earned the respect of his fellow fighters.
People like Davie Mackay would have died for him.
When it came to money, he always had a few tasty sidelines.
And you took his hush money.
Ringside seats, meet the fighters.
- And then the odd tenner. - Backhanders.
Perks. Part of the job.
Since when has looking the other way become part of the job?
What really sticks in my gullet
Is that I put a stop to it, all of it, months ago.
Oh, really?
Wilkes said he gave you an envelope.
Why else would you have gone to the boxing club that night?
I went to see Davie's last fight. Simple as that.
On the way out, I heard an argument, and being a good copper,
I go and sort it out.
I see Haslam breaking Davie's hand, shoving him down a fire escape.
Whatever he did, he didn't deserve what Haslam dished him.
And inside that envelope was a load of cash.
Oh, and, er... a little note.
"If you keep quiet, I won't write to the Chief Constable
"telling him about our little previous arrangement."
So Haslam blackmailed you to get him off the GBH charge?
What made you change your mind?
A rare attack of "do the right thing".
Yeah, and then I wake up to find Haslam staring back at me,
his blood all over the walls.
- Go to Morgan. - (LAUGHS WRYLY)
If I go to Morgan, I go to jail.
Do not pass Go.
Do not pause to say farewell to friends and family. No.
I didn't do it, Sam.
I swear on my life.
I know.
It's proving it that's the problem. That's the hard thing.
(EXHALES HEAVILY)
(PHONE RINGS)
- (DISCONNECTED TONE) - (STATIC CRACKLES)
- (GUNSHOTS) - (CHRIS) Don't shoot!
(GENE) Tyler!
(ANNIE) Sam! Help us!
(DISCONNECTED TONE)
(WOMAN SCREAMS)
- No! - What is it?
Aaagh! Jesus, what?
It was a dream. Just had a dream.
What I call a dream involves Diana Dors and a bottle of chip oil.
Oh, no. That's what you call a guilty conscience, my friend.
- What? - The root of nightmares.
My conscience is clear, thank you very much.
Whereas me, slept like a baby.
(SIGHS) Oh. Aah.
Yeah, a 20-stone baby. Burps, snores, farts.
I do NOT snore.
(BURPS RICHLY)
You know, the only fingerprints on that gun were yours.
- What about footprints? - No.
- On the glass, you know, broken... - Broken window. No.
Well, you must have missed something or I wouldn't be in this bloody mess.
I need to see the flat.
- The crime scene? - Yeah.
Good look at the place might kick-start the old mighty engine.
- Me brain. - Oh.
So you want to do a reconstruction?
Well, if you want to over-complicate the idea... Oh, sorry, course you do.
Well, we'd need the crime photos
that, um... are locked away in Morgan...
- Your cabinet. - Yes. My cabinet.
Which I just so happen to have the keys for.
OK.
- I'm coming with you. - What?
I need the smell of CID to get the old investigative juices flowing.
Half the police force is out looking for you.
- They won't look for me there. - You're off your head, you are.
Look. You're not the one who'll have to knit himself a new arsehole
after 25 years of male affection in prison showers. I'm coming with you.
You won't get within a mile of CID without being recognised.
Unless...
Come on.
- Leave it on. - I'm bloody dying in there.
You will be dead if they catch us.
How bloody dare he?
You seen the state of this place? Ridiculously neat.
Hold up, hold up. They're coming back in.
Wait for it.
OK.
Sam.
Who's the big rat?
It's, er... it's that training exercise for the WPCs.
Hearts and minds.
Good. Good.
Oh, anything new on Wilkes' murder?
Pretty straightforward, I think. Find Hunt, we find the killer.
Last piece of the jigsaw, eh?
You know what? My squirrel instinct tells me
he's even more of a bastard than I first thought.
That's very perceptive.
- For a rat. - (LIFT BELL DINGS)
(SIGHS)
Do you remember anything?
OK.
Quarter to twelve.
You put a brick through the window.
Haslam runs out, we drive off.
You jump out of the car and stagger off looking for your gun.
Say... ten to twelve.
Yeah. You're not telling me anything new here.
We're working it through.
We're looking for something that might spark a memory.
(EXHALES)
Where did you go after you got out of the car?
- Do you remember picking up the gun? - No.
Did you come straight back to Haslam's?
Did you have a kip, trying to sleep it off?
Did you fall over? Cut yourself? Did you kick a cat?
- No. Not a sodding thing. - (SIGHS)
OK.
So you're next heard heading towards the house at 3.30.
So let's say Haslam opens the door.
He sees you waving your gun about.
Runs straight in here.
Nowhere to hide so he just backs into the corner...
Wait a minute, wait a minute. Why would I come in here?
Why not do him as soon as he opened the door?
That's what I would do.
- Opens the door, bam. Show's over. - It makes no difference.
- Yes, it does. - No, it doesn't.
Your gun. Your prints on your gun.
- Haslam's blood on your shirt. - You think I'm capable of murder?
- It doesn't matter what I think. - I am not a killer!
- Prove it! - I can't.
Where's those photographs?
Vision of the future.
It's a remote control. It's not a magic bloody wand.
- He wouldn't have seen that. - What?
The pathologist. He wouldn't have seen it.
Red, blue. Red it goes on, blue it goes off.
Doesn't go off till two o'clock in the morning.
It's a heating vent.
The heating was on until two o'clock in the morning
and Haslam's body was sitting right on top of it.
- Click of the switch. - Yeah, all right.
It's not exactly nanotechnology, you know.
Right, OK.
The window was smashed, it was a cold night.
Ambient temperature would have been low.
Haslam's body was prevented from cooling at the predicted rate.
The time of death is wrong. He was killed earlier.
Haslam was killed hours before that neighbour saw you coming back.
Click of the switch. Vision of the future.
I'm trying to save your arse here
and all you can do is go on about the shiny new toy.
Telly. Right?
Lots of tellies.
(MUSIC: SWEET'S "DONE ME WRONG ALL RIGHT")
(TYRES SQUEAL)
(GENE) Flick of the switch. Vision of the future.
I was stood here... swaying...
Under the impression for some considerable time
that I had multiple vision.
Dying for a slash. Bladder the size of a bloody bowling ball.
It was there.
Oh, blessed relief.
Niagara bloody Falls, my friend.
- Then what? - Then, um...
Oh, you coming in, or what? You're blocking me passage.
Sorry, love.
- Oh, I might have known. - Known what?
It took two bottles of bleach and a can of Ajax
to get your stink off that front step.
My stink off this front step? You saw me here?
Saw you? I had to step over your ruddy carcass.
You've a nerve coming back here. He's like a dog to vomit.
- Hold on, love... - Me, I'd have left you there to rot.
- That's what friends are for, eh? - Friends? What friends?
Him that came and poured you into the back of his van.
More fool bloody him. He were the one that needed help, poor sod.
Looked like he'd been in the wars with that bandaged hand.
I love you.
Let's call Davie.
- You filthy swine. - Ooh, yeah.
Davie's not at the boarding house.
Where is he, then?
Well, strangely enough, he didn't leave a message.
Why would Davie want to kill Haslam?
And why would he say he stole money from Haslam when he didn't?
You know, I might just have a theory.
Davie was a good boxer, but he wasn't champion material.
It's never about money for boxers like Davie.
It was about pride, about being a man.
So what is it about?
It wasn't about money for Davie. It was for Haslam.
It was Davie's last fight and he didn't start well.
First few rounds, you'd never believe he was in that ring.
He had no... no power, no movement, nothing.
Then he started to get better. By the sixth round, he'd come out
like an Alsatian with a red-hot poker rammed up his arse.
Floored the other fella with a single punch. It was magnificent.
Great moment. Great win. But it shouldn't have happened.
- What do you mean? - He wasn't supposed to win.
Davie had to explain to us why he got beaten up.
Yeah, and he couldn't tell us. He was supposed to throw the fight.
That gives him an obvious motive to kill Haslam.
Very good.
So he probably saw you drop your gun outside Haslam's.
A weapon falls into his lap.
He sees you lying there in the street, barely conscious.
All he has to do is place you at the scene to shore things up.
You know, you'll make a detective yet.
Let's get over to the boxing club.
(MUSIC: SWEET'S "DONE ME WRONG ALL RIGHT")
# I woke up this morning
# My girl was not inside
# Looked inside my billfold, she'd done me wrong all right...
You can't go in there.
Or has it slipped your attention that you're public enemy number one?
Is that your idea of a disguise?
Impenetrable. I pass through crowds like the Invisible Man.
Guv. It's Morgan.
We've got to bring you in.
Right.
(MUSIC: CREAM'S "CROSSROADS")
Hang on.
Guv?
- Why are we running? - Because they're chasing us!
In here.
Why don't we go to Morgan with what we know?
Trust a man from Hyde? No chance.
Come on.
Bastards.
Ray.
- Eh, I've got a stitch. - Oh, come on, you div.
What do you want? Who are you?
- Mr Hunt. - Need a favour, Mickey.
- The usual. Put those on. - Right.
Mush, mush.
Oh, shit, they've doubled back!
Un-bloody-believable. Come on.
(GENE) I can't believe they fell for the same trick twice.
They really are bloody useless.
- Hang on. How did you get...? - Mickey Holmes. He owes me one.
78, he still drives like a bloody lunatic.
Mind you, he better not scratch the paintwork.
Keep your head up. Good.
Whoa. Take a break.
Hello, Mr Hunt.
Haslam wanted you to throw that fight, didn't he, Davie?
He had a lot of money riding on it. Him and Pete Wilkes.
He was going to see you OK, slip you a few quid.
You'd end up the loser.
You couldn't do it, could you?
So you did what you do best. You fought back and won.
I know what the life's like. I'm not stupid.
I see them through the ropes,
sitting in the front row with their suits and cigars and rolls of cash.
People like you, parasites, think it's a game.
Like any game, you want to bend the rules in your favour.
Only it's not a game to us. Not when that bell goes.
It's fighting.
Brutal. Hard, bloody fighting.
It's kill or be killed.
And you stood up. Like I did in court.
Did you kill Terry Haslam?
He thought he owned me.
Like I was a dog. Like a piece of meat.
And then I saw you pissing in the street that night.
It was an ideal opportunity.
You want to know what really twisted my guts? What killed me?
Pete Wilkes.
My man, my corner, just sitting back and letting it happen.
So, aye, I did Haslam. And I did Wilkes.
I did 'em both.
And d'you know what? I'd do 'em again.
You're coming in.
I'm not sorry for what I did.
Didn't think you would be, a man like you.
Come on.
Oh. Nice of you to drop in once I've already solved the case (!)
I'll take over from here.
(MURMURED CONVERSATION)
(WHISPERS) He's here.
I believe I have a right to feel a little upset.
See, I understood that I commanded your unswerving loyalty, your love,
affection and unquestioning obedience.
Apparently I was mistaken.
However, given the evidence with which you were confronted,
I can understand why that loyalty wavered.
What I find somewhat harder to understand
is how you miserable tossers
could for one second
believe that I could be a frigging bastard murderer!
Oh, and another thing.
I should inform you
that I intend to drink the equivalent of the North Sea in whisky tonight.
So raid your piggy banks.
(SOFT ROCK MUSIC)
(LAUGHTER)
(MAN) Show us what you've got. (MAN #2) Hey-hey-hey!
- (MUSIC STOPS) - (LAUGHTER DIES)
No hard feelings?
Just doing your job, copper.
Ray.
Cheers, Guv.
- (MUSIC ON) - (RAUCOUS LAUGHTER RESUMES)
Cheers, you bunch of Judases.
- Oh, go on, Chris. Go on, then. - Hey...
(VOMITS)
Nice one.
- Night, Sam. - Whoa, whoa, whoa.
Where you going?
Er... home.
Stay.
(GENE) Right, I told you all, to me!
- (RAY) Come on, lads! - (GENE) I'm the sheriff!
You had to believe Gene was innocent, didn't you?
Couldn't bear to think he might betray you?
Could you?
Well...
if you haven't got trust, who are you supposed to believe in?
You have to start with what you know.
You know? What you see in front of you.
And what do you see?
I see you.
Good work.
Hey, listen.
We're all right, aren't we? You and me.
Oh, yeah. You're doing a great job.
- Cheers. - Really.
We're all very proud of you.
Not your fault Hunt wriggled out of it. Good opportunity, but...
(LIFT BELL DINGS)
Hang in there, Sam. Soon as we can, we'll sort this out.
- Bring you back home. - (LIFT BELL DINGS)