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One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
Paul, Clare.
Come on, we've got to go.
Maurice, hurry up. We're late.
Yeah.
# Eia, Mater
# Fons amoris, fons amoris
# Me sentire vim doloris
# Me sentire vim doloris... #
Badger says he wants us all to go upstairs and have a drink.
After the dancing.
He says be discreet.
I'd like you all to meet a good mate of mine from
over the other side of the Pennines.
This is John Nolan.
Detective Inspector with Manchester.
Firstly, let's raise a glass to the Badger himself.
Bill Molloy...
on the marriage of his daughter. Cheers.
We've had enough of that bollocks downstairs, haven't we? No.
Let's drink to us. The bloody lot of us.
We'll keep this brief. John here has acquired offices
for us in the centre of Manchester.
He's got the printing and distribution end sewn up nicely.
Got a few Vice connections, too.
It's coming together.
Controlled vice.
Off the streets.
Out of the shop windows and into our pocket.
The whole of the North of England - the girls, the shops, the mags,
the whole bloody lot. We've got an opportunity here.
An opportunity to invest the money from our little, er...
venture and turn it into something even bigger.
Something great.
You all know the construction magnate,
John Dawson. John, please join us.
Gentlemen.
Mr Dawson has his own dreams. Don't you, John?
I do, Bill.
I'm offering you a business opportunity, gentlemen.
With your help,
I'm going to build a leisure and shopping complex.
And I'm not talking about some fucking rabbit hutch,
like t'Merrion Centre.
I'm talking about the biggest of its kind in Europe.
A place where you can buy everything you need.
Where you can go and see a film, or go bowling.
Where you can have breakfast, lunch or tea all under one roof.
I'm talking about an investment
of one hundred million pounds.
There's land close by the Hunslet and Beeston exit of the M1.
Be ideal.
We're going to to make this happen, gents.
And we're going to make some bloody money, too.
Some fucking, real, bloody money.
To us all. And to the North.
To the North!
To the North, where we do what we want.
At approximately 4pm yesterday evening, Hazel Atkins disappeared
on her way home from Morley Grange Junior and Infants.
Hazel is ten years old.
She has medium-length, light-brown hair in plaits and brown eyes.
She was wearing light-blue jeans, a dark-green top
and she was carrying a yellow bag embroidered with an H.
Hazel was last seen walking up Rooms Lane towards her home in
Bradstock Gardens.
When Hazel did not return from school, Mr and Mrs Atkins
contacted Morley police and a search was launched early yesterday evening.
As some of you are aware, the police was joined in the search by more than
one hundred local people.
Now, given the inclement weather and the fact that
Hazel has never gone missing before,
we're obviously concerned about her safety and whereabouts.
Mr Atkins would like to read a short statement in the
hope that any member of the public who may have information regarding
Hazel's whereabouts or disappearance
will come forward and share this information.
Thank you.
I'd like to appeal to anybody who knows where our Hazel is
to please telephone the police.
Please.
If you know anything at all, please telephone the police.
Please.
Let her come home.
We miss her.
I'll put Ellis out in the fields. Evans is in and out with the press,
and Jim's taking the parents back to Morley.
The evening papers mention Clare Kemplay.
Oh, aye, what do they say?
Nine years ago, the same school, goes missing,
Turns up dead in the foundations of a new estate.
Usual bollocks, then.
Talking of which... Ugh, Angus...
Angus wants us to go see a medium.
A what?
Mandy Wymer. Mystic. Fucking Mandy.
She contacted Kath Tyler at the Post.
Angus reckons it's worth a shot.
Come on. Let's get back to Morley.
# Tomorrow
# You're going to miss me
# Cos I'll be gone
# Oh, but the thought of me, baby
# Still gonna linger on
# You're going to miss me
# Sure going to miss me
# Cos I'll be gone
# Sure gonna miss me... #
There you go, Mam.
Back home.
Therefore shall he wash his flesh in water, and so put them on.
And he shall take of the congregation of the children of Israel
two kids of the goats for a sin offering,
and one ram for a burnt offering.
And Aaron shall offer his bullock of the sin offering...
Mr Piggott?
Mrs Myshkin.
Oh, your poor mam.
Sad you couldn't see more of her.
Yeah.
How's Michael?
You heard about that little girl?
What little girl?
Hazel Atkins.
Yeah. I did, yeah.
Can't blame my boy for that, can they?
It changes everything, doesn't it?
Possibly, yeah.
I don't really know.
Will you go see him?
Will you go see Michael?
Michael already has his own legal representation, doesn't he?
I've been serving his sentence with him.
Eight years.
Please.
Just go and see him.
Please.
# Closer
# Mm, closer
# Move, yeah... #
John Piggott here to see Michael Myshkin.
I'm his solicitor.
Visits are limited to 45 minutes.
You must both remain seated throughout the course of the visit.
You must have no physical contact.
No passage of goods.
Ciggies, whatever.
What's he like, then, Myshkin?
Pervert, same as the rest.
Violent?
Only with his right hand.
Hello.
My name's John Piggott.
I used to live in Fitzwilliam. Near you.
I'm a solicitor now and your mother asked me to
come and talk to you about an appeal.
Now, an appeal's a very lengthy and costly procedure that involves
a lot of time, a lotta... A lot of different people.
So, before any firm embarks on such a course on behalf of a client,
we have to ensure that there are sufficient grounds for such an appeal
and that there's a great likelihood of success.
Now, even that costs a lot of money.
Do you... Do you understand what I'm saying?
How long have you been in here, Michael?
Long time.
And you know why you're in this place?
Tell me why you're in here.
Because of Clare.
Clare who?
Clare Kemplay.
All right. What about her?
She did get killed and they said it were me.
Who said?
Everyone.
Did you kill Clare?
No.
Why did you say you did, then?
Michael, why did you say you killed Clare?
They said I had to.
Who said?
Everyone.
Who's everyone?
The policemen, the solicitor...
Why would they tell you to do that?
I don't know. I told them who did.
You know who killed Clare Kemplay?
Who?
If it wasn't you, Michael, who was it?
Who?
It was the Wolf.
The Wolf?
The Wolf.
The Wolf! The Wolf!
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
All good children go to heaven.
Penny on the water,
Tuppence on the sea
Threepence on the railway And out goes she.
Good luck, young man.
Mind how you go.
Cheers.
Hello, love.
Dick Alderman.
This is Maurice Jobson.
I know Mr Jobson.
Is there anybody there?
Kathryn Tyler, Mrs Wymer.
Yes.
Come in.
Very nice. It's very bohemian.
Please sit down.
Miss Tyler here says you've got some information about this little girl that's gone missing up Morley way.
< Yes.
Well, what type of information?
You must be getting desperate.
We're following up every possible lead.
I contacted the police once before, a long time ago. I never heard back.
Well, it's different now.
I'm a medium.
Sometimes I can hear, feel, see things other people can't.
Sometimes the dead speak through me.
So you think she's dead, do you?
Hm? Hazel?
Shall we find out?
Right.
Put your hands on the table.
It's OK. Let's see what we can find.
It's happened before. Three times.
It's happening again now.
Under the grass that grows beneath the stones and cracks.
Beneath those beautiful carpets.
Underground.
The rat and the wolf are here.
And the pig.
There's a swan, too.
Oh, the swan is dead.
Help me.
< Help me.
Please, tell them about the others.
Please.
What are you fucking talking about? What others?
< The others beneath those beautiful carpets.
You've got to tell them where they are.
Do you think she knows owt about the 2.30 at York?
Bollocks, Maurice, like you said.
Where's all of Clare Kemplay's stuff, Dick?
The files, you know?
Maurice, it's a coincidence. What else could it be?
Where's her fucking stuff, Dick?
Wood Street, probably.
Let's go.
What, now? Yes. Now.
'All the things BJ's seen and all the things BJ done.
'All those fucking, fucking things. '
This is Detective Superintendent Jobson.
Pleasure.
Mr Dunford hopes to be the Post's new crime correspondent.
Well, I always got on well with Jack Whitehead.
Aye. Good old, Jack.
'He'll be standing in for a trial period. '
Gentlemen, we'll keep this brief.
At about 4pm yesterday evening, 3rd September,
Clare Kemplay disappeared on her way home from Morley Grange Junior and Infants.
Clare is ten years old.
She was wearing a red top, grey school uniform and Wellington boots.
'When Clare left school, she was carrying a plastic... '
The lad found her. He works on the site.
What's your name, son? Leonard.
Leonard Cole. Builder's mate.
We need a statement from you, Leonard. All right?
I'm taking him down now.
Where's Bill?
He's over there.
OK.
He dumped her in a hurry.
Maybe he was surprised.
Facial abrasions, possibly bites.
Words razored into her chest.
"4 LUV".
He tried to stitch fucking swan wings onto her, Maurice.
Christ.
Fancy a fuck, Fatty? Tenner back at hers.
A tenner?!
Mr Piggott saw Michael on Saturday.
You will help him, then?
Well, as I told you, I don't have very much experience with appeals.
Um, certainly not this kind.
You see, what should have happened with Michael's case is his original
solicitor should have lodged an appeal at his trial, within 14 days.
Mr McGuiness told him he must plead guilty.
Mr Clive McGuiness?
Michael's solicitor.
It's very difficult to appeal against a confession and a guilty plea.
Some days I think me brain'll explode.
I'm sorry, I'd really like to help you, I would.
But I just don't think I'm the right man for the job.
I mean, to be frank, >
I don't see what the grounds are,
other than Michael's changed his mind.
But he didn't do it.
He confessed.
So, you see, you'd basically be appealing against yourself.
Mr McGuiness gave him bad advice.
Yeah. >
And he doesn't need any more.
So, I'm sorry, but I don't think I'll be of any use.
I remember your father.
I can remember him with you and your mates, playing football
on that field over there, across road.
Next to Reverend Laws and her.
And now it's happening again.
That poor lass.
Never stops.
Not round here.
But you know that, love, don't you?
I'm sorry, Mrs Myshkin.
Best you find somebody else.
Do you remember her?
Wings.
"4 LUV."
I heard you were sniffing around.
There are similarities.
It's just a coincidence, isn't it, Maurice?
We got the bastard, didn't we?
Maybe he had help.
He'd have said so back then.
Back then he said he didn't do it.
Maurice, he coughed for the lot, didn't he?
Clare Kemplay, Jeanette Garland, the Ridyard girl, right back to '69.
Myshkin is where he belongs, where you put him. >
I know Myshkin's got nothing to do with Hazel Atkins.
I'd just like to talk to him.
All right.
All right, maybe he did have help.
Maybe there was some pervert, a fan, a copycat thing.
Go and talk to him.
And keep it out of the papers.
And take Dick Alderman with you.
And Maurice?
You know he did those things.
You know it in your heart.
Michael.
Do you remember us?
I'm Mr Jobson and this is Mr Alderman. We're policemen, yeah?
How are you, Michael?
Hands flat on the table!
There's no need for that, Michael, eh?
We just want to ask you a few questions, that's all.
We'll be gone before you know it. You just tell us what we want. It's all right. Hey?
It's OK.
Been in here a while now, eh?
Must miss home. I know I would.
Family, your mates, Fitzwilliam. Eh?
You and your mum and dad, wasn't it?
Dad were a miner, weren't he?
Passed away.
< Because of dust.
Yeah. Sorry to hear that.
But I bet your mum's keeping your old room for you, eh?
Keeping it all just the way it was.
Does she come and visit you, does she, eh, your mam?
< Yeah.
Good.
And how about your mates? >
Do they come, do they? >
Hm?
Because you had some mates at work, didn't you?
That photo studio in Castleford.
Who was your mate there, Michael?
Dick.
Michael?
Who's your friend at the photo studio?
What about Leonard? >
Never hear off him? >
Leonard?
Yeah, Leonard Cole. How's he doing?
What? He never comes? Never writes?
No.
Christmas card?
< No.
You two were best mates, I heard.
< Yeah.
Thick as thieves. >
That's not very nice, is it?
Some bloody mate he turned out to be, eh?
Fucking hell.
It's a while since we saw Leonard Cole.
We should bring him in.
OK, boss.
Mr Jobson?
You know he had a meeting with his solicitor on Saturday?
What, going to appeal, is he?
He said a policeman told him to say he did it.
Did he say which policeman?
The solicitor headed him off.
Smart man.
And what was his name?
Piggott. John Winston Piggott.
Thanks for that.
Pleasure.
Piggott?
Yeah, John Piggott.
A right fat bastard. Father was one of us.
Arthur the Pig.
'BJ come round the back of your house in dead of night.
'Watch you sleep in bed.
'And BJ is coming. '
'Been riding his motorbike into Morley?.'
All denim and leather, he was.
He had the words "Angel Witch"
stitched into the back of his leather jacket between wings and studs.
Been in the belly six hours.
Forensics have dirt from his nails,
blood from his arse, cum from his cock.
We've not even started to interview the little twat.
It's a pity "The Badger" can't be with us. Like old times, eh?
What have I done?
There you go, Leonard.
What've I done?
What have I done?
Put your hands flat on the desk.
That looks nasty. You ought to get it seen to.
You...
You were the one that found Clare Kemplay.
We had a chat about that. Do you remember?
Aye. I didn't do nowt.
Put your hands back.
No.
Put your hands back. No.
Put your fucking hands back!
Flat.
What do you want?
Just tell me what you want.
No! No!
Put your hands back.
No!
Put your fucking hands back!
Just tell me what you want!
Sit down.
Stand up! Don't move! Eyes front! >
Don't move!
Owl's gone soft, has he?
I knew you'd come.
You said you'd tried to contact us before.
About Clare Kemplay. Yes.
Why?
You were on that case, weren't you?
I remember you.
You had that boy put away for it.
For Clare and for two others, yeah.
Clare spoke to me.
What?
In a seance?
She begged for help.
She... She said, "We are in hell".
We?
The others.
I saw her. I saw the blood.
I saw the wings.
What else?
Words.
Poor love.
I saw her.
I saw the blood.
'He tried to stitch fucking swan wings onto her, Maurice. '
That poor lass, Clare. After what they say happened to her,
I couldn't live with myself.
I'd been away, like.
She were driving.
She?
The boss's wife.
Naughty boy.
What was the car?
MG Sports. Colour?
Red.
Red one.
It were dead icy and we were mucking around, you know?
I'd had more to drink than her, like.
Anyway, we were just coming past and this white van comes out of nowhere.
You know Clare Kemplay was found round here?
Wife said.
So what did you do then?
Well, she'd done summat to her neck.
She was a bit hysterical, like.
I went over to van to see if driver were OK.
He were a bit stunned.
Well, she wanted to drive on.
Worried we might get found out.
So, you got a good look at him?
Oh, aye.
I recognised him.
Look at this place.
I give it ten years.
It will be fit for nowt but dogs.
They should burn it down.
Number seven.
A priest.
Wouldn't be the first time, would it?
No church I know of, mind.
Didn't Arthur Piggott live round here?
Yeah, next door.
We're looking for Mr Laws, love.
Haven't you done enough?
We don't know anything about that Morley lass.
Where is he?
Up the allotment, top of field. End shed.
Hey. Watch yourself.
Should have brought a bloody picnic.
Can I help you, gentlemen?
Mr Laws?
Uh-huh.
I'm DCS Molloy, this is DS Jobson.
I take it it's about the Morley lass?
What about her?
Our Leonard.
You've found out something.
It's you we want to talk to this time, Mr Laws.
Down at Morley station.
Do you think Hazel is still alive?
I can't tell. She's on the edge.
This is bullshit.
That boy's innocent.
You know he is.
He didn't do it.
You should have phoned to make an appointment.
My diary's busy now.
You took on that woman's pervert son.
I'm not representing Michael Myshkin, if that's what you're referring to.
Mary!
He remembers us, Mary.
You remember us, don't you, John?
Of course I remember.
He had nothing to do with her, or this new one.
He has got a solicitor, hasn't he?
Some guy from Bradford.
He's telling Leonard to confess, but the lad's done nothing.
Clive McGuiness.
McGuiness?
He's his father's double, isn't he, Mary?
It's us, John.
It's us.
Right. Same time tomorrow.
Hello there. Here to see Leonard Cole.
And you are?
John Piggott. Mr Cole's solicitor.
Oh, is that right?
Er, it appears Mr Cole already has a solicitor and it isn't you.
That'd be the duty solicitor.
Mr Cole has dispensed of his services and now has his own representation.
And is there anything written or signed by Mr Cole releasing
Mr McGuiness from his role?
That is why I'm here.
But it isn't signed.
Of course it's not.
That's why I'm asking to see him, so he can sign it.
And you're not bloody listening.
You're not his solicitor, so you can't see him.
Can I use that telephone?
No, you can't.
Will you let his mother see him?
Yeah if she was here by six.
Better get your skates on.
Clunk-click.
She's here to see her son. Leonard Cole. She's entitled.
Mrs Cole? >
What is it? What's happened?
He's dead.
Hung himself.
< Ashes to ashes,
dust to dust.
May God bless Leonard's soul. Amen.
Hello.
I were Leonard's girlfriend.
I was almost his solicitor.
What's your name?
Tessa.
Fancy a quick jump, Tessa?
Piss off!
OK. See you later.
What have you got in them?
Lunch. Do you want some?
Have you got any blow?
Don't snort that, will you? >
What is it?
Me mam.
You're really
< disgusting.
But I've got a pure heart.
# Take the ribbon from my hair
# Shake it loose
# And let it fall
# Lay it soft
# Against your skin... #
Leonard were working on the houses >
and we used to see him and Michael mucking about in the churchyard.
Started talking to him.
Michael were always about >
because he could get us booze and cigs from off licence. >
We were just pissed all the time. >
Then I started going out with Leonard. >
He used to say, like, Michael had never been kissed or owt.
# All I'm taking
# Is your time
# Help me make it
# Through the night... #
Leonard didn't kill himself.
He wouldn't.
He didn't kill that little girl either, did he?
He couldn't. >
# Let the devil take tomorrow
# Lord, tonight I need
# A friend
# Yesterday is dead and gone... #
I'm trying to find a member of staff, Edward Dunford.
Edward Dunford?
No, can't say I've heard of him.
He was a crime correspondent, worked for you in about 1974.
I'd have been at primary school!
Thanks for that.
Hi, it's Fiona at reception.
I've got a gentleman here asking for an Edward Dunford.
Eddie covered the beginning of Clare Kemplay.
< It was horrendous.
There was a load of stuff they never released. You don't want to know.
< There was another crime correspondent, weren't there?
< Jack Whitehead?
Whitehead also covered Jeanette Garland, didn't he?
Jeanette goes missing from Castleford, July 1972.
The police went on about a white Ford Transit, gypsies, the usual.
But again, the trail went cold. Never found.
You, er, think they're connected, Jeanette and Clare?
Eddie thought so.
Somebody must have an address for him, surely?
Eddie's dead. >
Car crash.
1974.
What about Hazel?
Do you think she's connected?
Maybe. >
< I'm sorry,
this is miserable stuff.
No, it's not that. >
It's this record. Always does that to me. It's stupid.
< Know what you mean.
I'm a soul man myself.
Hello?
< Maurice, it's me. I've seen her, Maurice.
What? Hazel?
< No, Jeanette. Jeanette Garland.
That's where the Garlands used to live.
This place is worst of all.
Lost children's shoes...
And tears and...
Blood.
Oh, it's dark. She's afraid.
And she's suffocating, she's crying.
She's crying!
Hey...
She can't breathe because of the dust.
She wants to come home. Help me!
Stop it!
No-one sees!
Now, come on.
She can't breathe, Maurice! She's suffocating.
Look, come on, now.
Mr Piggott?
You're here about Leonard Cole?
On behalf of his mother.
How is she?
How do you think?
Well, how can I help you?
She's asked me to collect Leonard's belongings,
you know, his personal effects.
Sure. Erm...
I can't promise you the motorcycle today.
It's still with forensics.
I'm afraid the late Mr Cole is still very much part of the investigation.
Right, well, if you'd just like to sign this, please.
To be honest with you, I seem to have got myself up to my neck.
A bit out of your depth?
Bitten off more than I can chew.
Which is saying something, as you can see.
Go on.
< To be straight with you, I'm also representing Michael Myshkin.
You know who I mean?
Yes, I know who you mean.
I'm in the process of preparing a preliminary appeal on his behalf.
Didn't he plead guilty?
Diminished responsibility.
Well, then... >
One might argue that his pleas were ill-considered,
even that the confession itself might have been gained
< by unlawful means.
That's a very serious allegation.
Just examples, possible avenues to explore.
As I say, I'm feeling somewhat overfaced.
Oh, I think you have the measure of things.
< No, no, not at all. No.
< I just need to be
a little bit clearer before I spend any more of my client's money.
And you want me to tell you?
< I'd like you to tell me
if Michael Myshkin murdered Clare Kemplay.
Yes, he did.
Alone?
Boss, urgent. It's Rochdale.
If you'd like to wait downstairs, I'll make sure you get his things.
Think about this, Mr Jobson.
I don't think Myshkin killed Clare.
And I don't think Leonard Cole took Hazel Atkins.
And I don't think he killed himself.
Goodbye, Mr Piggott.
< The policemen told you to say you killed Clare?
But you didn't kill her?
You signed a piece of paper to say you did.
They said if I didn't, I'd never see me mum again.
The police said that?
Your first solicitor, Mr McGuiness,
< did you tell Mr McGuiness that you didn't kill Clare?
And what did he say?
He said it was...
.. too late.
He said it would make things worse for me.
Do you remember Leonard Cole?
He were me best friend.
Michael, did Leonard kill Clare?
No.
Who did then?
Leonard knows.
Leonard's dead, Michael.
It's not my fault.
It's not. It... It wasn't me done it.
McGuiness!
What do you think you're doing? You're not on the pills again?
Leonard Cole.
Leonard Cole was guilty. He hung himself.
End of fucking story, OK?
Now, if you don't bloody mind,
I'm gonna get dressed, get some breakfast.
Some of us still have an office to go to.
Michael Myshkin.
What about him? He did it, he confessed.
You were his solicitor, Clive!
You were supposed to defend him, protect him.
You know what hypogonadism is?
It means your balls don't grow. That's what Myshkin had.
Poor bastard just couldn't control himself.
The week before he did
what he did to that poor lass,
he was wanking himself off
in front of two teenage girls in some fucking graveyard.
What were their names?
Whose?
The girls IN GRAVEYARD!
Well, I can't remember, John,
after all these years!
Remember.
Skinny.
Jailbait.
You know, the same as all of them.
Tessa someone.
Tessa?
Cole's girlfriend, wasn't she?
John!
Maurice told me about your father.
Understandable you want to right some wrongs.
Jesus!
You fucking set him up! >
How could you do that?!
< They made me!
The police made me.
They can do what they want!
I don't believe you.
Leonard were dead rotten to Michael.
He used to tease him,
try and make him go with lasses.
It were fucking cruel.
But Michael weren't bothered.
He weren't interested.
He only had eyes for one girl.
< He used to talk about her all the time.
You're lying.
< He had a photo.
He used to talk to it.
For hours.
Fuck off. >
Did you ever actually see them together? Did you?
He used to say he could save her.
Save her? >
Save Clare? What do you mean?
Not Clare, Jeanette.
< Jeanette Garland.
Not my idea of discreet, Maurice. It's not my patch, is it, sir?
Nothing was found.
A false lead.
Got it?
A bloody medium?
You sent me to see her, sir.
Are you in love with that mad cow? Do you believe in that shit?
I believe they could be the remains of Jeanette Garland.
You whinge worse than a bitch in heat, Maurice. You listen to me.
You get the evidence we need to nail Leonard-fucking-Cole
in his coffin and don't fuck up.
It is very fucking cold out there.
'That poor lass, Clare.
'After what they say happened to her, I couldn't live with myself. '
So you got a good look at him?
Oh, aye.
'I recognised him. '
'It's you we want to talk to this time, Mr Laws. '
'You know Clare Kemplay was found round here?'
Put your hands flat on the table.
Nasty.
< Yeah, you should get that seen to.
Stand up! Come on!
This way. On your toes.
Dick? Dick!
Come here.
Morning, gents.
Do you like rats, Reverend? Eh?
Come on! Get him!
Get him! Come on!
No! Yes!
What do you say, eh? What do you say?
I've got nothing to say. I did nothing.
I know nothing.
Is that right, eh?
Eh? Do you like it? Eh?
John Dawson.
What? What did you say?
You ask Mr Dawson.
He knows what I did.
He knows what I know.
He'll tell you all about it.
We've got him. Hm?
He fucking did it. You saw that.
Bill?
We know he did it.
No, we don't, Maurice.
No, we don't.
Is he expecting us?
Looks like it.
I didn't expect to see you here today, Bill. Nice surprise.
Bad penny.
You remember Mr Jobson?
Yeah, of course I do. Hello, Maurice.
John, erm, is there somewhere we can have a word?
You want a word, Bill?
Yeah, a word.
All right. Come up to the house.
The wife's away. We'll get some privacy.
It's beautiful, in't it?
I had an architect design it in the shape of a swan.
Two wings, see?
Lovely job.
I wanted a word with you, as it happens, Bill.
I've got a problem with gypos up at Hunslet site.
Gypos? They won't be a problem.
Glad to hear it.
Don't want a few pikeys getting in the way of our investment, do we?
John loves swans.
They're beautiful creatures.
You know when swans mate,
they mate for life.
When one of them dies, the other pines to death.
Very romantic.
What can I do for you?
It's about Clare Kemplay.
We've got Martin Laws down at Wakefield.
Reverend Laws, you mean?
I wish you'd come to us before, Bill.
How's that, then, John?
Well, could've saved a lot of bother.
How do you mean?
Reverend Laws was with me all that day.
Family do.
He were here with me.
You should've told us sooner, John.
It's bollocks. Fucking bollocks.
Got no reason to hold him now.
It's fucking bollocks and you know it.
Finished?
Have you fucking finished, Maurice?
We fucking owe John Dawson.
John Dawson is king and don't you forget it.
We have a positive sighting of a white Ford Transit.
There's a vehicle of a similar description
at that gypo camp up at Hunslet.
We'll hit them tonight.
I'll ring around.
Make it midnight. OK, Maurice?
Maurice?
Yeah.
Is Eddie there?
Dunford? I thought you were a fucking journalist.
Well, you'd best start asking questions.
You don't need to know.
Are you interested in the Romany way?
White vans and gypos.
Hunslet Beeston exit off the M1.
Mischief night came early,
and you're late.
Eddie Dunford's being a bloody nuisance.
Dunford doesn't know anything.
He knows enough.
He's not in your pocket or anyone else's.
Isn't John Dawson the real problem?
How's that, Maurice?
Putting his private pleasures before business.
Before our business.
Dawson has been warned.
Dick's right. >
Our business. >
Two little problems.
Not so much.
I've got Bob Craven and Dougie onto it.
< Thank you, Bill.
< Make it nice and clean.
< Good. Solved.
< Our investment's secure,
< what we've planned, what we've all worked so hard for.
It'll not get thrown away.
I won't let that happen.
< To the North, where we do what we want.
To us all. And to the North.
'To the North. '
The North, where we do what we want.
Bloody oasis, isn't it, Maurice?
We've seen some things, haven't we?
Five years' time, the game will be over.
We'll leave it to the new lot, put our feet up.
Meet up from time to time in a place like this.
Talk about the old days.
The good old, bad old days.
Lab report came back from Rochdale.
Chicken bones.
Bloody chicken bones.
You and your psychic girlfriend.
Can I see the report?
There's a reason you never made it over Bill, Maurice.
You ever wonder about that?
Probably the same reason your wife up and left with kids.
You're a whiner.
Tipping off Dunford that time.
Thought I didn't know?
You cunt.
You and your guilty fucking conscience, Maurice.
What about Hazel?
Hazel Atkins is dead.
Leonard Cole killed her.
You know that in your heart.
Now, fuck off and retire quietly.
'Mr Myshkin has been refusing his food. '
He's also taken to smearing excrement on the walls of his room.
Both staff and his family feel
he might possibly attempt to take his own life.
Michael.
You've got a visitor.
I'll be outside. Ten minutes.
Michael.
I want you to tell me about Jeanette Garland.
Michael, please.
Look, I've tried to help you.
I still want to help you.
You knew her, didn't you?
You had Jeanette's photo, didn't you?
You carried it with you everywhere.
You talked to it.
I used to see her sometimes.
The others laughed but she didn't.
When did you last see her?
That day.
Where?
Castleford.
Where in Castleford?
In a van.
She wasn't smiling.
She wasn't waving.
I loved her.
Who was she with, Michael?
Who took her?
You know.
I want you to tell me.
But you know!
Everybody knows. Everybody!
I saw.
I watched.
The Wolf made me.
Michael, who is he?
Your dad were there too.
Your dad was the Wolf's friend.
Dad.
I see it at night.
I see it all the time. It won't go away.
< I told you.
< I told you a long time ago.
I could have saved them.
I could have.
It's not your fault, Michael.
It's not your fault.
I told you. I did, didn't I?
Yeah. Yeah, you did.
I told...
And you said for me not to say.
You said...
I said if you told them,
that you would never see your mam again.
I said if you told them
you'd spend the rest of your life in prison.
You did. You did.
And I said for you to say that you killed Clare,
and Susan and Jeanette.
And I'm sorry, Michael.
I'm so sorry.
'This is for you.
'For all the things you made me do.
'For all the things you made me see.
'For voices in my head and silence of night.
'For boy I was and boys that saw.
'For every little kid you fucked and all their dads who liked to watch.
'Your tongue in my mouth and your lies in my ear.
'Loving you, loving me.
'This is where it ends.
'It ends here. '
This is BJ.
I'm going to teach you how to love me.
Hello, BJ.
Ah, poor boy.
I tried to look after you.
I tried to protect you.
Put it down.
Put it down, BJ.
It doesn't suit you.
Good boy.
Let it go.
I'm going to teach you how to love me.
Do you remember?
You were the first.
You were the best.
Mr Piggott is king today.
You be nice to Mr Piggott.
The sea is the way, thy path is through the great waters,
thy footsteps unknown.
You stand at the door with the keys to death and hell.
Argh...
Oh ho ho! There you are.
God...
You haven't the guts.
The sea is all blood...
The waters wormwood...
Hazel?
# Twinkle twinkle little star
# How I wonder what you are... #
'Here is one that got away and lived to tell the tale,
'from Karachi Social Club and Griffin Hotel,
'Wakefield nick and St Mary's Hostel,
'motorways and car parks, parks and toilets, idle rich and unemployed.
'From shit they sell and shit we buy, from kids with no mums
'and mums with no kid.
'From all dead meat and my dead friends,
'pubs and clubs, from gutters and stars,
'local tips and old slag heaps.
'From badgers and owls, wolves and swans.
'Here is a son of Yorkshire.
'Here is one that got away.
'One, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
'All good children go to heaven. '
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