Well, I'm enjoying this night out in a Corby trouser press.
There's no point in both of us getting crushed. You get the drinks, I'll grab some food.
Don't get much, do you?
Not lately.
- Sorry? - Oh! No. I mean, it's a joke.
- You only bring one plate up? - Mm-hmm.
Big mistake.
Oh, God! Sorry!
Sorry! Um... I'll pay for it. Here.
- It's OK. - Look at you. You're sopping.
- I hate them anyway. - Please, send me the cleaning bill.
- Honestly, it's no sweat. - I'm trying to give you my telephone number.
Oh. Um...
I'm joking. Come on. I've mucked up your suit, I'll pay for it.
- Can I get a top-up here, please? - Location manager.
What's that? Bribing people to let Channel 4 come and film their toilet?
Ladies and gentlemen, for your cabaret this evening,
prepare to be amazed by the miraculous powers of Otto Danzigger.
Let's do it. Release the ballsI
The bubble of relativity, where time curves back on itself.
The future is revealed to those with the power to see.
Molecules, particles colliding...
A white ball with a number... a number 8!
First match is number 8.
- Is it a two and a five, 25? - It's number 25.
Eleven. On a blue ball number 11.
It's number 11.
Next tonight, it's number 3.
Fifth is number 46.
47 is our sixth number.
Now the bonus ball to decide who gets to perform live in the studio. It's 30...
There we go! I wouldn't mind a talent like that. All six numbers!
Don't wait for him to be amazed, you'll be here all night.
- Sorry, I got distracted. - Yeah. I noticed.
- Heidi, this is Maddy Magellan. - Heidi, hi.
Has he told you what he does? He chops women up, basically,
then works out how to put them back together again in his professional capacity as...
How would you describe it? A kind of magic mechanic?
What else? He's Capricorn. He's very tidy.
He lives in a windmill and he's so single it's frightening.
And if you ask him nicely, he'll tell you exactly how that was done.
The signal to the TV would have gone through some kind of relay.
You only need a few seconds delay, enough for an accomplice
who's watching it live to feed the numbers through.
An earpiece would be spotted. More likely through the mic.
You could rig it up to receive some sort of pulse that he could feel.
The guy then transmits each number using Morse code or some other...
What if he didn't?
- Sorry? - What if it wasn't a trick?
He actually has the power to see into the future? Not everyone's a fraud, you know.
There's documented evidence of people who can reach beyond this plane of existence,
communicate on levels we don't understand.
Yeah, well, I walked past his dressing room earlier on,
and his chest hair was hanging in a Sketchley bag.
To me, that's a big credibility problem.
OK, but it doesn't hurt to keep a more open...
Hang on... Did she say you lived in a windmill? Where, for heaven's sake?
Place called Briar Hollow in West Sussex. About 30 miles...
It's about 30 miles north of Worthing.
"PRAISE YOU" BY FATBOY SLIM)
- I've got to go... - I don't... Really...
Be careful!
I said isn't it weird? You come up to a party, you don't know who'll meet.
Is that a deal, then?
- Sorry? - We'll say about...
about seven o'clock tomorrow?
OK. Great.
Look, I have to go. I'm staying with my aunt. I don't want to be late getting in.
You still haven't...
Oh, yeah.
There you are!
"LOVE IS ALL AROUND" BY WET WET WET)
- Will you come in? - No, I can't. I can't!
Now go on. Get out. Shoo!
Go away!
No, come back.
Now clear off!
And come tomorrow for dinner...
and I'll impress you with the size of my portions.
Sweet dreams. Bye.
- Oh! - Sorry.
I thought you'd be dead to the world by now.
I did fall asleep, but I was having such a horrible dream.
I was glad to wake up. Did you have a good time?
Yeah, Chrissy couldn't make it, so I went on my own, but actually,
as things turned out, it was... rather productive.
Now, I've just got some calls to make before...
- Aunt Audrey, what is it? - Oh, no. No, no. I...
It was just this dream.
I'm not usually one for nightmares, but...
it was so vivid.
A man was being murdered. An elderly man. French, he seemed to be,
or a foreigner of some description.
Someone had broken in through the window - someone with a gun -
and locked the door.
The man was about to be killed and was pleading for his life.
And he just kept saying,
"Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. "
Yes, well... You'll lock up, won't you, before you come to bed?
Don't worry. You get a good night's sleep.
- C'est tout, Monsieur Masson? - Oui, c'est bien, Yvette. Merci.
Yes?
Craig. He is, yes. How are you this morning?
Missing you, but that's par for the course.
When this wretched lunch is through today,
I thought we might grab some time together. I could book our favourite room at the Posthouse.
We could order tea and let it get cold.
- What do you say? - Yes, of course.
Oh, by the way, could you tell him I may not be there dead on 12.
I've a client at ten who'll be hard to rush, so...
One second, I'll ask. Craig's saying he may be late for the meeting.
Is there any chance...?
The meeting will begin at 12 o'clock as I have instructed.
These are not complicated matters. Tell Mr Downey I expect him to be punctual.
Thank you.
I heard.
Sorry. Still getting a slight wobble.
I'm sorry about that. We said seven.
I rang and couldn't raise you, so I thought we'd quietly get on with things.
Quietly get on with things?! I'm in the middle of the D-Day landings!
What the hell is going on?
You were fine about it last night when I said our own mill had fallen through
and if we did some rescheduling, would tomorrow be OK to knock off a few exteriors?
- When did you say that? - Last night.
I said if you don't mind us humping our gear upstairs. You said no problem.
Yes. I obviously misheard.
Sounds like you've made rather a pig's breakfast of this one, Jonathan.
I may have to come round and wallow in your embarrassment.
- What is it, anyway? - I don't know. Some TV costume thing.
Woman gets chucked by her lover and ends up leaping off a windmill sail.
Insides are all being done in a studio. They assure me they'll be away by 8 at the latest.
So if I came by about lunchtime...
Hang on. There's someone rather wonderful at my front door.
Yes, I could introduce you to the sound engineer.
- It'll be your kind of guy. - About 12, then? OK. Bye.
- Hey! You're up bright and early. - Two minutes. I'm off to St Albans.
Listen. Sorry we had to break things off last night,
before we got to know each other... properly.
God, I was in some state, wasn't I?
I'm looking at seafood recipes for tonight. How does a lobster grab you?
Kind of like this.
- Oh, I thought you'd all be... - Oh, don't worry.
It's all part of the power game. Lest we forget who runs the company
and who ranks somewhere below a species of pond life in the order...
Are you insane?
- Sir? - He's locked the door? He's got a g...
No! You are mad!
You would not dare!
Oh, Dieu. Oh, Dieu...
Oh, Dieu...
That won't work. Go round the side.
Oh, my...!
This is the most arse-achingly boring business I've ever sat through in my life!
- Is this what you invited me here for? - No, this is what you invited yourself here for.
- What are they doing? - Waiting for a scaff-tag.
- A what? - A safety tag
to verify the scaffolding's been properly checked over as secure.
The guys who put it up forgot. Now they're half way to a job in Swindon.
Without a scaff-tag, no one's allowed on it, so they can't film.
So, do I get to see Colin Firth in his underpants?
Madeline Magellan?
Guess who? That's a tough one. Field Marshal Montgomery?
Of course we're still on for tonight. You think I've had second thoughts already?
Eight o'clock, and I should warn you I'm very strict on punctuality.
I most certainly will.
You, too. Bye.
Very good feeling about this young chappie.
He's so perfect, you almost wonder what the catch is.
The attack on media tycoon Mr Masson
took place about 12.30 in the study of his palatial Surrey home,
within earshot of his wife and business partners who were in the next room.
There was a crashing of glass...
and we heard him crying out to whoever had broken in and locked the door.
And his last words before the gun...
"Oh, Dieu...
"Oh, Dieu. "
Yeah... I don't know what to say, actually. Maybe we'll talk about this tonight?
Yeah. Right. Bye.
Wow! Make what you will of that.
Apropos our conversation yesterday,
what's your position on the predictive power of dreams?
- Go on. - Do you know that Swiss guy, Andre Masson?
- Been in the news a lot. - Irregularities with offshore investments.
Or something. Just over an hour ago,
someone broke into his study and shot him in the chest.
Last night, after the party, Auntie Audrey had just had this dream
about an elderly Frenchman being murdered.
I mean, it's unbelievable. She foresaw every detail -
the fact that the killer broke in through the window, locked the door,
and what's really spooky -
in the dream, she said the man was shouting, "Oh, dear. Oh, dear. Oh, dear. "
Masson, before he was murdered, shouted, "Oh, Dieu. Oh, Dieu. Oh, Dieu. "
Try telling me that's a conjuring trick. I don't think so.
How could it be? There's too much that matches for it to be a coincidence.
Anyway, I think that's Heidi come in.
Yes, I will. Yes, all right.
All right. Yes. Bye.
Auntie Vera? What does she make of it?
Oh, what does she make of anything? She doesn't know how a pedal bin works.
- How'd it go today? - The usual snail's pace. We're there tomorrow.
- Are you OK? - Of course I'm not OK.
Twelve hours before a man's murdered, I see the whole thing in a dream.
A man I don't know, never even heard of. It's almost like some...
And then... I had another one this afternoon, there, when I dropped off in that chair.
- Look, Auntie Audrey... - This time I wrote it down, so we have a record.
It was... another death.
Someone was being killed.
It was more confused this time, but... I remember there was a creature with wings...
And...
And the initials RP were in there somewhere.
That's all I could remember after I woke up.
If you'll excuse me, I think I'll have a spoonful of brandy.
- How's this thing meant to flush? - The knob broke off.
Put your hand inside and pull the little twisty bit.
How do you snap the handle off a cistern?
I know. You'd be amazed at the strength of this hand.
Hmm...
Gawd! It's all go in here tonight.
Field Marshal Montgomery reporting for active service.
Listen, I'm 20 minutes late. Will you shoot me for desertion?
Oh, wow, lobster! I'm impressed.
Come here. I haven't forgiven you for throwing me out of that taxi last night.
Um...
Yes. Sorry.
Things seem to have gone slightly awry here...
somehow.
What was that phrase? "A pig's breakfast"?
That's a classic, to get off with two blokes and think they're the same person.
You were pissed, but that's ridiculous.
So this first bloke went home with a migraine, then you can't remember what he looks like.
Anyway, can we just put this behind us, please?
How are you fixed for Auntie Audrey's this morning?
Or is this one too baffling even for your wizardly brain?
If it actually happened. I wouldn't put it past her to say it to wind me up.
Someone was talking! Can we keep the rabbit down, please?
Shh!
Maybe you've heard this man, Masson. He's been in the papers a lot lately
to do with money going missing in his company somewhere.
Maybe you had an inkling someone might attack him?
That won't wash. How could I know about the window being broken or the door locked?
And the words - "Oh, Dieu" is as near to "Oh, dear" as makes no odds.
How could I predict his last words, a man I didn't know from Adam?
You read a lot of Greek mythology, Mrs Pangwitch?
Greek and Roman, yes. One closely parallels the other, if you know about the subject.
Yes, I read. I listen to music. I watch very little television.
Saturday night, it was that ghastly lottery show on,
so I switched it off and settled down for the night in this chair with Tiresias.
- Tiresias is... - .. a blind soothsayer from Thebes,
who was given the gift of prophecy by the goddess Athena, if memory serves.
Actually, he's my goldfish, named after the soothsayer from Thebes.
It depends, I suppose, if you buy into the idea of predestination.
Like, if everything's been pre-ordained by fate, is it already out there somewhere in the ether,
sending signals back we can pick up sometimes in our dreams?
You buy your fish food in the market.
- I beg your pardon? - Bob & Rita's. Stall 25.
- "For all your pet supplies. " - Yes, I shop there on Saturday morning.
Fruit and vegetables for the week, plus any odds and ends...
Oh. Excuse me.
There'll be some weird reasoning behind it. Best not to ask.
- Right. - Interesting places, markets.
- You never can tell sometimes... - No!
When did...?
Oh, dear God.
Yes. All right.
Gordon, our postman. I told him about all this this morning, and...
You know how you witter on... I... started to tell him about...
The second dream?
Becky Phillips at the manor house in Codlington
was killed in a road accident a couple of hours ago.
The number on her car...
was RP13.
- Look what else I wrote. - "A creature with wings. "
A jaguar is a creature. A car has wings.
I... I can't believe this is happening.
Now, Mrs Pangwitch, you've got to try not to let it upset you.
Oh, yes. It wouldn't upset you, I suppose, to know you've foreseen your own death.
Last night... The moment I woke up, I wrote it down.
This time, a man coming up the stairs...
a man with one eye...
and he came up to me in my bed with a sword...
And then, in the dream, there was blood... my blood, everywhere.
It was a nightmare. We all have them.
- It doesn't mean it's going to happen. - Oh, really?
Like the last two, you mean?
Mr Creek, I don't know what clever ideas you've had in the past.
This time, you're out of your depth.
You're dealing with forces you can't begin to understand.
Now, please go. Go. Go.
Well, I don't know. The first bit was weird enough.
Then you've got a car crash no one could have foreseen.
How's she doing it?
Unless... I don't know - she somehow deliberately engineered both those deaths herself.
It's deeper than that.
At the moment, it's deeper than we can possibly see.
I'm afraid we're going to need more information.
So, what are we looking at now?
- Oh, um... - Another hour? Hour and a half?
- We've got our own lives to lead, you know? - Well, very tricky to say, actually...
Mrs... Masson?
How many more detectives are they going to send?
To try and put an innocent man behind bars.
You've got nothing on Mr Downey. Nothing that can possibly hold water.
A contact lens found next to the gun, what does that prove?
And as for these diary entries on my husband's computer...
All right. So he'd found out. We were having an affair.
That was news to me.
But all this rubbish about Craig threatening to kill him,
it's just a figment of somebody's warped imagination.
Nevertheless, we will need to have a further word with Mr Craig about...
- Downey. - Craig... Downey,
who will be where exactly now?
At the company's London office all day.
And incidentally, can you stop these reporters who keep finding their way into the house?
There was another yesterday. Turned up and started questioning the staff...
Yes, absolutely. On to that now, Mrs Masson.
Thanks for all your help. Bye.
So, hang on. He'd written about his wife's affair in a diary he kept on his computer,
which presumably wasn't password-protected...
almost as if it was meant to be found?
Yeah. Go on.
Oh, really? Even more interesting.
Sorry?
Not a great deal of progress today, no.
No, she's not. She was taking her aunt to the doctor's...
Er, no... Sorry. Something just popped in there suddenly.
Look, if you can check out that woman in the car. And this bloke Downey,
find out if he's had any burglaries lately.
Meet me back here tonight.
I've just had a fairly breathtaking thought.
All right! It was only a quick word. I didn't want an audience with the Pope.
- Don't come back! - Talk about the ruddy Gestapo.
Look, we've been over this a hundred times!
I'm not denying it was my contact lens. How it ended up beside his body, I do not know.
What can I say? It was a spare I kept at home.
- I presume it was taken in the burglary... - Burglary, Mr Downey?
It's all on record. I reported it to the local station.
Saturday morning, I arrived back from Geneva, found my flat had been turned over.
Five grand's worth of gear gone.
Look, we're missing the point here, surely?
The suggestion I shot him is absurd. I was in the next room when it happened.
It was impossible for me to have killed him.
So you say, Mr Downey. Unless, of course...
Excuse me, sir. Apologies for interrupting, but I think we have an intruder on the premises.
Come on!
No! No!
You bastard!
OK? Night-night.
- See you in the morning. - Yes, of course.
What have we got? The senior director was having it off with the boss's wife.
Director's contact lens was found on carpet...
And flat was burgled while director was out of country.
- Yes. How did you manage that one? - In a sec.
What about the woman in the car?
The unfortunate Becky Phillips. Her husband was quite helpful, surprisingly.
She was heading to the airport for a business trip to Antwerp.
Apparently, she had a phobia about flying,
which he thinks may have caused a lapse in concentration, which sent her off the road.
I really thought I had it this afternoon, but then...
Theory's all very well, but you need proof.
A woman's had three very strange dreams, two of which have already come true,
and in a third one, she's stabbed by a one-eyed man.
- I'd be scared titless in her shoes. - She's had three dreams.
Only one of them was strange. The key is spotting which one.
- Clue? - How much do you know about Greek mythology?
Funnily enough, bugger all.
I could never get behind that woman who had sex with a swan - unlike the swan. Why?
To make any sense out of this, we have to get inside a very perverse and utterly devious mind.
You're kidding? You think all that dear-little-old-lady thing was just an act?
I'm not talking about her mind. I'm talking about the mind of Andre Masson.
The guy who was killed?
I'm sorry. Sometimes you could be talking in Latin, for all the sense it makes.
It's like that stuff with - what was it? - her buying her goldfish food at the market,
which I dare say had some profound...
The goldfish bowl. Do you know, that could be the one final possibility I overlooked.
Get your coat.
Sorry, we know it's gone 11, but I won't sleep tonight unless I check this out.
What are you doing with that? What's going on?
Sit down, Mrs Pangwitch. I don't think we'll be bothered by any one-eyed men with swords.
If you spare me a few minutes, we'll lay this nightmare to rest.
What are dreams, anyway?
A marshalling yard for all the thoughts that were swilling through your brain during the day,
a great Freudian soup of symbols.
The thing they're not is a window into events that haven't happened yet.
Instead of lumping those three dreams together, we should have picked them apart
to see which one didn't fit.
For someone filling their head with myths every night,
the image of a one-eyed man's not hard to trace. Polyphemus, the Cyclops from Homer's Odyssey.
And a creature with wings - how about a Harpy?
Initials RP?
Suddenly, those last two dreams don't seem that remarkable.
Predicting the death of that poor girl in a road accident -
I'd hardly call that unremarkable.
Except the dream didn't predict anything, Mrs Pangwitch.
She was already worried about flying. The day she's about to go up,
word gets round about these dreams of yours.
You've already predicted one person's death, now it's not looking good for her.
Death by a creature with wings - obviously a plane -
for someone whose initials are RP - her initials, Rebecca Phillips.
Her husband said she was out of her mind with worry.
- It was an accident waiting to happen. - The only real mystery is this murder,
and if we're looking for an explanation in this world, not out there with the fairies,
we have to assume two things.
Somehow, the exact details of that shooting were pre-determined,
and somehow, they managed to find their way into your dream.
Once you read about this Masson, you realise he was about to be nailed for fraud.
Last ten years, he'd been creaming off zillions.
We can assume he also wasn't wild about one of his senior directors,
Craig Downey, doing the dirty with his wife.
Let's say he's given up the fight and decided to top himself.
Only to make sure he dies with a smile on his face,
he's going to make it look as if Downey murdered him.
At some point, when no one's around to hear,
he mocks up a recording of what sounds like someone breaking into his study with a gun.
What are you...? What kind of madness is this?
Are you insane?
He's locked the door. He's got a g...
No! You are mad!
You would not dare!
Oh, Dieu...
Oh, Dieu... Oh, Dieu.
Downey's away on business.
He plants the CD in his flat. Let's say he switches it for a Frank Sinatra.
At the same time pocketing a contact lens, which he'll leave next to his body
as evidence Downey was in the room.
Everything was set.
He scheduled the meeting so Downey and others would be outside.
What are you...? What kind of madness is this?
- Are you insane? - He locks the door himself,
so no one can rush inside and see what was really happening when they heard that noise.
You would not dare! Oh, Dieu...
Oh, Dieu...
Oh, Dieu.
Downey was outside with witnesses when they heard the gun.
He's got to be in the clear... or is he?
Not only are the police going to find his contact lens,
Masson's also left diary entries about Downey threatening to kill him, probably invented.
So, sooner or later, they're going to tumble to the idea of a very clever time-shift murder.
They search his flat, find the CD, prosecution rests.
It's your classic Columbo plot.
Downey shot Masson earlier in the day, recorded it
and programmed the computer to play it back at half twelve, giving himself the perfect alibi.
To say that is the most unlikely scenario I have ever heard...
.. is exactly the point.
No jury alive will believe it's a set-up. Downey's had it.
And it would have worked, but for one glitch Masson couldn't have known about.
Downey's flat is burgled.
Along with all the usual stuff - TV, video, hi-fi - his CDs are taken.
Of all the boggling connections here, there was one real stumper.
The idea of pre-recording the murder, I could just about get to,
but how did it get here, into the dream of a woman living 50 miles away?
The fact that you shopped in a market had distinct possibilities.
It's not hard to imagine stolen goods finding their way to some back-of-a-lorry merchant.
Back home that night, the new discs went in.
By the time our soundtrack comes round, you've nodded off in your chair.
What are you...? What kind of madness is this?
What would you think when you wake up?
It was a rather unpleasant nightmare.
NoI You are madI
As a theory, it fitted like a glove, but it was still just a theory.
This morning, when I'm afraid I took the liberty of checking it out, no luck.
I found an empty box, but no computer disc for love nor money.
Till it struck me - there was one place it could have slid out of sight I hadn't checked.
What are you doing with that? What's going on?
Of course, if it plays "Fly Me To The Moon", we're screwed.
What are you...? What kind of madness is this?
Are you insane?
He's locked the door. He's got a g...
NoI You are madI
You would not dareI
Oh, Dieu...
Oh, Dieu... Oh, Dieu.
Quickly, everybody. Here we go.
Roll it.
Action.
What's happening? I thought you'd finished here.
Hi. Yeah, we had a faulty neg on one reverse, can you believe? We had to come back.
The leading actor's down with food poisoning.
Fortunately, we only see the back of his head. We needed someone the same size and shape.
Sorry, cut it. We're still catching the side of your face, Jonathan.
One more, please.
OK, reset, please. Quickly as you can, everybody.
Yes? Who's that?
Gino? Oh, really? How are you both?
What kind of ideal arrangement? I beg your p...?!
Take it in turns to sleep with me?! Am I hearing right?
What?! No! We were just saying sorry the other night was such a cock-up.
If you wanted to get together for a beer or whatever, no agenda.
You've got some nerve, the pair of you,
asking me to share my body with two men on a rota basis.
I'll think about it. Promising nothing, mind. OK. Bye.
- There's a word for what you are. - Predictable?